LEWIS  RAND 


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TO   HAVE   AND   TO    HOLD.       With  8  Illustrations 

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HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


I  WILL  MAKE  COURT  TO  YOU  IN  A  COURT  SOME  DAY! 


LEWIS 
RAND 


BY   MARY   JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD,"  u  PRISONERS  OF    HOPE," 
ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  F.  C.  YOHN 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ftifcetfibe  $re&  CambriDge 
1908 


COPYRIGHT    1908   BY    MARY  JOHNSTON    AND 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  October  IQO? 


FIFTH    IMPRESSION 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    •    S    •    A 


THIS  BOOK  IS   INSCRIBED 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
JOHN  TYLER  MORGAN 

FOR  THIRTY  YEARS 

UNITED  STATES  SENATOR 

AND  THROUGHOUT  THE  COURSE 

OF  A  LONG  LIFE 
A  GOOD  MAN  AND  A  PATRIOT 


210372 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  ROAD  TO  RICHMOND  .....          i 

II.  MR.  JEFFERSON       .          .         .         .          .                      14 

III.  FONTENOY  .          .          .         .         .          .          .28 

IV.  THE  Two  CANDIDATES  .....            39 
V.  MONTICELLO       .         .         .         .         .         .         .56 

VI.  RAND  COMES  TO  FONTENOY     ....            70 

VII.    THE  BLUE  ROOM 86 

VIII.  GARY  AND  JACQUELINE   .....            99 

IX.  EXPOSTULATION  .          .         .         .         .         .         .108 

X.  To  ALTHEA  .         .         .         .          .          .         .          116 

XI.  IN  THE  GARDEN         .          .          .          .          .                133 

XII.  A  MARRIAGE  AT  SAINT  MARGARET'S       .          .          144 

XIII.  THE  THREE-NOTCHED  ROAD       .          .          .          .162 

XIV.  THE  LAW  OFFICE 183 

XV.  COMPANY  TO  SUPPER           .....      194 

XVI.    AT  LYNCH'S 214 

XVII.  FAIRFAX  AND  UNITY           .....     230 

XVIII.  THE  GREEN  DOOR          .....          241 

XIX.  MONTICELLO  AGAIN     .         .         .         .         .         -257 

XX.  THE  NINETEENTH  OF  FEBRUARY     .          .          .          270 

XXI.  THE  CEDAR  WOOD    .                                                       282 


viii  CONTENTS 

XXII.  MAJOR  EDWARD         .          .          .          .          .  295 

XXIII.  A  CHALLENGE 311 

XXIV.  THE  DUEL 323 

XXV.  OLD  SAINT  JOHN'S        ...  336 

XXVI.  THE  TRIAL  OF  AARON  BURR     ...  348 

XXVII.  THE  LETTER         ....  .363 

XXVIII.  RAND  AND  MOCKET            ...  373 

XXIX.  THE  RIVER  ROAD 383 

XXX.  HOMEWARD 396 

XXXI.  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE     .....  406 

XXXII.  THE  BROTHERS 417 

XXXIII.  GREENWOOD 427 

XXXIV.  FAIRFAX  CARY 440 

XXXV.  THE  IMAGE 455 

XXXVI.  IN  PURSUIT 466 

XXXVII.  THE  SIMPLE  RIGHT 475 

XXXVIII.  M.    DE    PlNCORNET       .                            .              .              .  480 

XXXIX.  UNITY  AND  JACQUELINE                                      .  493 

XL.  THE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR      .         .  503 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

I      WILL     MAKE      COURT      TO     YOU     IN      A      COURT     SOME      DAY 

(page  198) Frontispiece 

YOU    ARE    A    SCOUNDREL  138 

GARY    SAW    AND     FLUNG    OUT     HIS    ARM,    SWERVING     HIS 
HORSE,  BUT  TOO  LATE 09^ 

DRINK  TO  ME  ONLY  WITH  THINE  EYES       ......     506 


LEWIS  RAND 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    ROAD    TO    RICHMOND 

THE  tobacco-roller  and  his  son  pitched  their  camp 
beneath  a  gum  tree  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood.  It 
was  October,  and  the  gum  was  the  colour  of  blood. 
Behind  it  rolled  the  autumn  forest;  before  it  stretched  a  level 
of  broom-sedge,  bright  ochre  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 
The  road  ran  across  this  golden  plain,  and  disappeared  in 
a  league-deep  wood  of  pine.  From  an  invisible  clearing 
came  a  cawing  of  crows.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  the 
evening  wind  had  not  begun  to  blow.  The  small,  shining 
leaves  of  the  gum  did  not  stir,  and  the  flame  of  the  camp-fire 
rose  straight  as  a  lance.  The  tobacco  cask,  transfixed  by  the 
trunk  of  a  young  oak  and  drawn  by  strong  horses,  had  come 
to  rest  upon  the  turf  by  the  roadside.  Gideon  Rand  unhar 
nessed  the  team,  and  from  the  platform  built  in  the  front  of 
the  cask  took  fodder  for  the  horses,  then  tossed  upon  the 
grass  a  bag  of  meal,  a  piece  of  bacon,  and  a  frying-pan.  The 
boy  collected  the  dry  wood  with  which  the  earth  was  strewn, 
then  struck  flint  and  steel,  guarded  the  spark  within  the 
tinder,  fanned  the  flame,  and  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  stood 
back  from  the  leaping  fire.  His  father  tossed  him  a  bucket, 
and  with  it  swinging  from  his  hand,  he  made  through  the 
wood  towards  a  music  of  water.  Goldenrod  and  farewell- 
summer  and  the  red  plumes  of  the  sumach  lined  his  path, 
while  far  overhead  the  hickories  and  maples  reared  a  fretted, 
red-gold  roof.  Underfoot  were  moss  and  coloured  leaves, 


2  LEWIS   RAND 

and  to  the  right  and  left  the  squirrels  watched  him  with 
bright  eyes.  He  found  the  stream  where  it  rippled  between 
banks  of  fern  and  mint.  As  he  knelt  to  fill  the  pail,  the  red 
haw  and  the  purple  iro,nweed  met  above  his  head. 

Below  him  was  a  little  mirror-like  pool,  and  it  gave  him 
back  himself  with  such  distinctness  that,  startled,  he  dropped 
the  pail,  and  bending  nearer,  began  to  study  the  image  in 
the  water.  Back  in  Albemarle,  in  his  dead  mother's  room, 
there  hung  a  looking-glass,  but  it  was  cracked  and  blurred, 
and  he  seldom  gazed  within  it.  This  chance  mirror  of  the 
woods  was  more  to  the  purpose.  The  moments  slipped  away 
while  he  studied  the  stranger  and  familiar  in  the  pool  below 
him.  The  image  was  not  formed  or  coloured  like  young 
Narcissus,  of  whom  he  had  never  heard,  but  he  observed 
it  with  interest.  He  was  fourteen,  and  old  for  his  years. 
The  eyes  reflected  in  the  stream  were  brooding,  the  mouth 
had  lost  its  boyish  curves,  the  sanguine  cheek  was  thin,  the 
jaw  settling  square.  His  imagination,  slow  to  quicken,  had, 
when  aroused,  quite  a  wizard  might.  He  sank  deeper  amid 
the  ironweed,  forgot  his  errand,  and  began  to  dream.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  tobacco-roller,  untaught  and  unfriended, 
but  he  dreamed  like  a  king.  His  imagination  began  to  paint 
without  hands  images  of  power  upon  a  blank  and  mighty 
wall,  and  it  painted  like  a  young  Michael  Angelo.  It  used 
the  colours  of  immaturity,  but  it  conceived  with  strength. 
"When  I  am  a  man  —  "  he  said  aloud;  and  again,  "When 
I  am  a  man  —  "  The  eyes  in  the  pool  looked  at  him  yearn 
ingly;  the  leaves  from  the  golden  hickories  fell  upon  the 
water  and  hid  him  from  himself.  In  the  distance  a  fox 
barked,  and  Gideon  Rand's  deep  voice  came  rolling  through 
the  wood:  "Lewis!  Lewis!" 

The  boy  dipped  the  pail,  lifted  it  brimming,  and  rose 
from  his  knees.  As  he  did  so,  a  man  parted  the  bushes  on  the 


THE   ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  3 

far  side  of  the  stream,  glanced  at  the  mossed  and  slippery 
stones  rising  from  its  bed,  then  with  a  light  and  steady  foot 
crossed  to  the  boy's  side.  He  was  a  young  man,  wearing  a 
fringed  hunting-shirt  and  leggins  and  a  coonskin  cap,  and 
carrying  a  long  musket.  Over  his  shoulder  was  slung  a  wild 
turkey,  and  at  his  heels  came  a  hound.  He  smiled,  showing 
very  white  teeth,  and  drew  forward  his  bronze  trophy. 

"Supper,"  he  said  briefly. 

The  boy  nodded.  "I  heard  your  gun.  I've  made  a  fire 
yonder  beneath  a  black  gum.  Adam  Gaudylock,  I  am  well- 
nigh  a  man ! " 

"So  you  be,  so  you  be,"  answered  the  other;  "well-nigh 


a  man." 


The  boy  beat  the  air  with  a  branch  of  sumach.  "I  want 
to  be  a  man !  But  I  don't  want  to  be  a  tobacco-roller  like 
my  father,  nor  — " 

"Nor  a  hunter  like  me,"  the  other  finished  placidly.  "Be 
the  Governor  of  Virginia,  then,  or  come  with  me  and  make 
yourself  King  of  the  Mississippi!  I've  watched  you,  boy! 
You're  growing  up  ambitious,  ambitious  as  What's-his- 
name  —  him  that  you  read  of?" 

"Lucifer,"  answered  the  boy  —  "ambitious  as  Lucifer." 

"Well,  don't  spill  the  water,  my  kingling,"  said  the  hunter 
good-naturedly.  "Life's  not  so  strange  as  is  the  way  folk 
look  at  it.  You  and  I, now, — we're  different!  What  I  care  for 
is  just  every  common  day  as  it  comes  naturally  along,  with 
woods  in  it,  and  Indians,  and  an  elk  or  two  at  gaze,  and  a 
boat  to  get  through  the  rapids,  and  a  drop  of  kill-devil  rum, 
and  some  shooting,  and  a  petticoat  somewhere,  and  a  hand 
at  cards, — just  every  common  day !  But  you  build  your  house 
upon  to-morrow.  I  care  for  the  game,  and  you  care  for  the  prize. 
Don't  go  too  fast  and  far,  —  I've  seen  men  pass  the  prize  on 
the  road  and  never  know  it!  Don't  you  be  that  kind,  Lewis." 


4  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  won't,"  said  the  boy.  "But  of  course  one  plays  to  win. 
After  supper,  will  you  tell  me  about  New  Orleans  and  the 
Mississippi,  and  the  French  and  the  Spaniards,  and  the  moss 
that  hangs  from  the  trees,  and  the  oranges  that  grow  like 
apples  ?  I  had  rather  be  king  of  that  country  than  Governor 
of  Virginia." 

The  sun  set,  and  the  chill  dusk  oP  autumn  wrapped  the 
yellow  sedge,  the  dusty  road,  and  the  pines  upon  the  horizon. 
The  heavens  were  high  and  cold,  and  the  night  wind  had 
a  message  from  the  north.  But  it  was  warm  beneath  the 
gum  tree  where  the  fire  leaped  and  roared.  In  the  light  the 
nearer  leaves  of  the  surrounding  trees  showed  in  strong 
relief;  beyond  that  copper  fretwork  all  was  blackness.  Out 
of  the  dark  came  the  breathing  of  the  horses,  fastened  near 
the  tobacco-cask,  the  croaking  of  frogs  in  a  marshy  place, 
and  all  the  stealthy,  indefinable  stir  of  the  forest  at  night.  At 
times  the  wind  brought  a  swirl  of  dead  leaves  across  the  ring 
o-f  light,  an  owl  hooted,  or  one  of  the  sleeping  dogs  stirred 
and  raised  his  head,  then  sank  to  dreams  again.  The  to 
bacco-roller,  weary  from  the  long  day's  travel,  wrapped 
himself  in  a  blanket  and  slept  in  the  lee  of  his  thousand 
pounds  of  bright  leaf,  but  the  boy  and  the  hunter  sat  late 
by  the  fire. 

"We  crossed  that  swamp,"  said  Gaudylock,  "with  the 
canes  rattling  above  our  heads,  and  a  panther  screaming  in 
a  cypress  tree,  and  we  came  to  a  village  of  the  Chickasaws  — " 

"In  the  night-time  ?" 

"In  the  night-time,  and  a  mockingbird  singing  like  mad, 
from  a  china  tree,  and  the  woods  all  level  before  us  like  a 
floor,  —  no  brush  at  all,  just  fine  grass,  with  flowers  in  it 
like  pinks  in  a  garden.  So  we  smoked  the  peace  pipe  with 
the  Chickasaws,  and  I  hung  a  wampum  belt  with  fine  words, 
and  we  went  on,  the  next  day,  walking  over  strawberries  so 


THE  ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  5 

thick  that  our  moccasins  were  stained  red.  At  noon  we 
overtook  a  party  of  boatmen  from  the  Ohio,  —  tall  men 
they  were,  with  beards,  and  dark  and  dirty  as  Indians,  — 
and  we  kept  company  with  them  through  the  country  of 
the  Chickasaws  and  the  Choctaws  until  we  came  to  a  high 
bluff,  and  saw  the  Mississippi  before  us,  brown  and  full  and 
marked  with  drifting  trees,  and  up  the  river  the  white  houses 
of  Natchez.  There  we  camped  until  we  made  out  the  flat- 
boat,  —  General  Wilkinson's  boat,  all  laden  with  tobacco 
and  flour  and  bacon,  and  just  a  few  Kentucks  with  muskets, 
—  that  the  Spaniards  at  Natchez  had  been  fools  enough 
to  let  pass!  We  hailed  that  boat,  and  it  came  up  beneath 
the  cottonwoods,  and  I  went  aboard  with  the  letters  from 
Louisville,  and  on  we  went,  down  the  river,  past  the  great 
woods  and  the  strange  little  towns,  and  the  cotton-fields 
and  the  sugar-canes,  and  the  moss  hanging  like  banners 
from  taller  trees  than  this  gum,  to  New  Orleans.  And  there 
the  Intendant  would  have  laid  hands  on  our  cargo  and  sent 
every  mother's  son  of  us  packing,  but  Miro,  that  was  gov 
ernor,  stood  our  friend,  being  frightened  indeed  of  what 
Kentucky  might  do  if  put  to  it!  And  there,  on  the  levee,, 
we  sold  that  tobacco  and  flour  and  bacon;  and  the  tobacco 
which  we  sold  at  home  for  shillings  and  pence,  we  sold  at 
New  Orleans  for  joes  and  doubloons.  Ay,  ay,  and  not  one 
picayune  of  duty  did  we  pay!  Ay,  and  we  opened  the 
Mississippi !" 

The  speaker  paused  to  take  from  his  pouch  several  leaves 
of  tobacco,  and  to  roll  them  deftly  into  a  long  cigar.  The 
boy  rose  to  throw  more  wood  upon  the  fire,  then  sat  again 
at  the  trader's  feet,  and  with  his  chin  in  his  hand  stared  into 
the  glowing  hollows. 

"The  West!"  said  Gaudylock,  between  slow  puffs  of 
smoke.  "Kentucky  and  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi,  and 


6  LEWIS   RAND 

then  Louisiana  and  all  that  lies  beyond,  and  Mexico  and  its 
gold!  Ha!  the  Mississippi  open  from  its  source  —  and  the 
Lord  in  Heaven  knows  where  that  may  be  —  to  the  last  levee ! 
and  not  a  Spaniard  to  stop  a  pirogua,  and  right  to  trade  in 
every  port,  and  no  lingo  but  plain  English,  and  Mexico  like  a 
ripe  apple,  — just  a  touch  of  the  bough,  and  there's  the  gold 
in  hand !  If  I  were  a  dreamer,  I  would  dream  of  the  West." 
"Folk  have  always  dreamed  of  the  West,"  said  the  boy. 
"Sailors  and  kings,  and  men  with  their  fortune  to  make. 
I've  read  about  Cortez  and  Pizarro, — it  would  be  fine  to 
belike  that!" 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  study  law." 
"I  do;  but  I  could  be  a  great  soldier,  too." 
Gaudylock  laughed.    "You  would  trap  all  the  creatures 
in  the  wood !  Well,  live  long  enough,  and  you'll  hear  a  drum 
beat.    They  're  restless,  restless,  yonder  on  the  rivers !    But 
they'll  need  the  lawyers,  too.    Just  see  what  the  lawyers  did 
when  we  fought  the  British!    Mr.  Henry  and  Mr.  Jeffer 


son  —  " 


The  boy  put  forth  a  sudden  hand,  gathered  to  him  a  pine 
bough,  and  with  it  smote  the  red  coals  of  the  fire.  "Oh!" 
he  cried,  "from  morn  till  night  my  father  keeps  me  in  the 
fields.  It's  tobacco!  tobacco!  tobacco!  And  I  want  to  go 
to  school  —  I  want  to  go  to  school!" 

"That  's  a  queer  wanting,"  said  the  other  thoughtfully. 
"I've  wanted  fire  when  I  was  cold,  and  venison  when  I 
was  hungry,  and  liquor  when  I  was  in  company,  and  money 
when  I  was  gaming,  and  a  woman  when  the  moon  was  shin 
ing  and  I  wished  to  talk,  —  but  I  have  never  wanted  to  go 
to  school.  A  schollard  sees  a  wall  every  time  he  raises  his 
head.  I  like  the  open." 

"There  are  walls  in  the  forest,"  answered  the  boy,  "and 
I  do  not  want  to  be  a  tobacco-roller!  I  want  to  study  law!" 


THE   ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  7 

The  hunter  laughed.  "Ho!  A  lawyer  among  the  Rands! 
I  reckon  you  take  after  your  mother's  folk!" 

The  boy  looked  at  him  wistfully.  "I  reckon  I  do,"  he 
assented.  "But  my  name  is  Rand." 

"There  are  worse  folk  than  the  Rands,"  said  the  woods 
man.  "I've  never  known  one  to  let  go,  once  he  had  man 
or  beast  by  the  throat!  Silent  and  holdfast  and  deadly  to 
anger  —  that  's  the  Rands.  If  Gideon  wants  tobacco  and 
you  want  learning,  there  '11  be  a  tussle!" 

"My  father 's  a  tyrant!"  cried  the  boy  passionately. 
"If  he  does  n't  keep  his  hands  off  me,  I'll  —  I'll  kill  him!" 

Gaudylock  took  the  cigarro  from  his  lips.  "You're  too 
fond  of  that  word,"  he  exclaimed,  with  some  sternness.  "All 
the  wolves  that  the  Rands  ever  hunted  have  somehow  got 
into  their  blood.  Suppose  you  try  a  little  tmlearning  ? 
Great  lawyers  and  great  men  and  great  conquerors  and 
good  hunters  don't  kill  their  fathers,  Lewis,  —  no,  nor  any 
other  man,  excepting  always  in  fair  fight." 

"I  know  —  I  know!"  said  Lewis.  "Of  course  he's  my 
father.  But  I  never  could  stand  for  any  one  to  get  in  my 
way!" 

"That's  just  what  the  rattlesnake  says  —  and  after  a 
while  nobody  does  get  in  his  way.  But  he  must  be  a  lonely 


creature." 


"Do  you  think,"  asked  the  boy  oddly,  —  "do  you  think 
I  am  really  like  that,  —  like  a  rattlesnake  ?" 

Adam  gave  his  mellow  laugh.  "No,  I  don't.  I  think  you 
are  just  a  poor  human.  I  was  always  powerfully  fond  of 
you,  Lewis,  —  and  I  never  could  abide  a  rattler!  There's 
the  moon,  and  it 's  a  long  march  to-morrow,  and  folks  sit  up 
late  in  Richmond!  Unroll  the  blankets,  and  let's  to  bed." 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  the  two  lay  down  with  the  fire  be 
tween  them.  The  man's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  Missis- 


8  LEWIS   RAND 

sippi,  to  cane-brakes  and  bayous  and  long  levees;  and  the 
boy's  mind  perused  the  road  before  him. 

"When  I  get  to  Richmond,"  he  suddenly  announced,"  I  am 
going  to  find  a  place  where  they  sell  books.  I  have  a  dollar." 

The  hunter  put  his  hand  in  his  pouch,  drew  out  a  shining 
coin,  and  tossed  it  across  the  fire.  "There's  another,"  he 
said.  "Good  Spanish!  Buy  your  Ctesars  and  your  Pom* 
peys,  and  when  you  are  a  lawyer  like  Mr.  Jefferson,  come 
West  —  come  West ! " 

Men  and  beasts  slumbered  through  the  autumn  night, 
waked  at  dawn,  and,  breakfast  eaten,  took  again  the  road. 
Revolving  cask,  horses,  dogs,  and  men,  they  crossed  the  wet 
sedge  and  entered  the  pine  wood,  left  that  behind  and  tra 
versed  a  waste  of  scrub  and  vine,  low  hills,  and  rain-washed 
gullies.  Chinquapin  bushes  edged  the  road,  the  polished  nut 
dark  in  the  centre  of  each  open  burr;  the  persimmon  trees 
showed  their  fruit,  red-gold  from  the  first  frosts;  the  black 
haw  and  cedar  overhung  the  ravines;  there  was  much  sassa 
fras,  and  along  the  plashy  streams  the  mint  grew  thick  and 
pungent-sweet.  In  the  deep  and  pure  blue  sky  above  them, 
fleecy  clouds  went  past  like  galleons  in  a  trade-wind. 

The  tobacco-roller  was  a  taciturn  man,  and  the  boy,  his 
son,  never  thought  of  disburdening  his  soul  to  his  father. 
Each  had  the  power  to  change  for  the  other  the  aspect  of  the 
world,  but  they  themselves  were  strangers.  Gideon  Rand, 
as  he  rode,  thought  of  the  bright  leaf  in  the  cask,  of  the 
Richmond  warehouse,  and  fixed  the  price  in  his  mind.  His 
mind  was  in  a  state  of  sober  jubilation.  His  only  brother, 
a  lonely,  unloved,  and  avaricious  merchant  in  a  small  way, 
had  lately  died,  and  had  left  him  money.  The  hundred  acres 
upon  the  Three-Notched  Road  that  Gideon  had  tilled  for 
another  were  in  the  market.  The  money  would  buy  the  land 
and  the  small,  dilapidated  house  already  occupied  by  the 


THE   ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  9 

Rands.  The  purchase  was  in  train,  and  in  its  own  fashion 
Gideon's  sluggish  nature  rejoiced.  He  was  as  land-macLas 
any  athjerJVirginian,  but  he  had  neither  a  lavish  hand  nor  a 
climbing  eye.  What  he  loved  was  the  black  earth  beneath 
the  tobacco,  and  to  walk  between  the  rows  and  feel  th2  thick 
leaves.  For  him  it  sufficed  to  rise  at  dawn  and  spend  the 
day  in  the  fields  overseeing  the  hands,  to  come  home  at  dusk 
to  a  supper  of  corn  bread  and  bacon,  to  go  to  bed  within  the 
hour  and  sleep  without  a  dream  until  cockcrow,  to  walk  the 
fields  again  till  dusk  and  supper-time.  Church  on  Sunday, 
Charlottesville  on  Court  Days,  Richmond  once  a  year,  varied 
the  monotony.  The  one  passion,  the  one  softness,  showed  in 
his  love  for  horses.  He  broke  the  colts  for  half  the  county; 
there  was  no  horse  that  he  could  not  ride,  and  his  great  form 
and  coal-black  locks  were  looked  for  and  found  at  every 
race.  The  mare  that  he  was  riding  he  had  bought  with  his 
legacy?  before  he  bought  the  land  on  the  Three-Notched 
Road.  He  was  now  considering  whether  he  could  afford  to 
buy  in  Richmond  a  likely  negro  to  help  him  and  Lewis  in  the 
fields.  With  all  the  stubbornness  of  a  dull  mind,  he  meant 
to  keep  Lewis  in  the  fields.  Long  ago,  when  he  was  a  hand 
some  young  giant,  he  had  married  above  him.  His  wrife  was 
a  beautiful  and  spirited  woman,  and  when  she  married  the 
son  of  her  father's  tenant,  it  was  with  every  intention  of 
raising  him  to  her  own  level  in  life.  But  he  was  the  stronger, 
and  he  dragged  her  down  to  his.  As  her  beauty  faded  and 
her  wit  grew  biting,  he  learned  to  hate  her,  and  to  hate 
learning  because  she  had  it,  and  the  refinements  of  life 
because  she  practised  them,  and  law  because  she  came  of  a 
family  of  lawyers.  She  was  dead  and  he  was  glad  of  it,  — 
and  now  her  son  was  always  at  a  book,  and  wanted  to  be 
a  lawyer!  "I'll  see  him  a  slave-driver  first!"  said  Gideon 
Rand  to  himself,  and  flecked  his  whip. 


10  LEWIS   RAND 

On  the  other  side  of  the  cask  Adam  Gaudylock  whistled 
along  the  road.  He,  too,  had  business  in  Richmond,  and 
problems  not  a  few  to  solve,  but  as  he  was  a  man  who  never 
sacrificed  the  present  to  the  past,  and  rarely  to  the  future, 
he  alone  of  the  three  really  drank  the  wine  of  the  morning  air, 
saw  how  blue  was  the  sky,  and  admired  the  crimson  trailers 
that  the  dewberry  spread  across  the  road.  When  his  gaze 
followed  the  floating  down  from  a  milkweed  pod,  or  marked 
the  scurry  of  a  chipmunk  at  a  white  oak's  root,  or  dwelt  upon 
the  fox-grape's  swinging  curtain,  he  would  have  said,  if 
questioned,  that  life  in  the  woods  and  in  an  Indian  country 
taught  a  man  the  use  of  his  eyes.  "Love  of  Nature "  was  a 
phrase  at  which  he  would  have  looked  blank,  and  a  talisman 
which  he  did  not  know  he  possessed,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
if  he  could  have  defined  the  word  "Romance."  He  whis 
tled  as  he  rode,  and  presently,  the  sun  rising  higher  and  the 
clear  wind  blowing  with  force,  he  began  to  sing,  — 

"From  the  Walnut  Hills  to  the  Silver  Lake, 

Row,  boatmen,  row  ! 
Danger  in  the  levee,  danger  in  the  brake, 

Row,  boatmen,  row ! 
Yellow  water  rising,  Indians  on  the  shore  !  " 

Lewis  Rand,  perched  upon  the  platform  before  the  cask, 
his  feet  dangling,  his  head  thrown  back  against  the  wood, 
and  his  eyes  upon  the  floating  clouds,  pursued  inwardly  and 
with  a  swelling  heart  the  oft-broken,  oft-renewed  argument 
with  his  father.  "I  do  not  want  to  go  to  the  fields.  I  want 
to  go  to  school.  Every  chance  I've  had,  I've  learned,  and  I 
want  to  learn  more  and  more.  I  do  not  want  to  be  like  you, 
nor  your  father,  nor  his  father,  and  I  do  not  want  to  be  like 
Adam  Gaudylock.  I  want  to  be  like  my  mother's  folk. 
You've  no  right  to  keep  me  planting  and  suckering  and 
cutting  and  firing  and  planting  again,  as  though  I  were  a 


THE   ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  11 

negro!  Negroes  don't  care,  but  I  care!  I'm  not  your  slave. 
Tobacco !  I  hate  the  sight  of  it,  and  the  smell  of  it !  There's 
too  much  tobacco  raised  in  Virginia.  You  fought  the  old 
King  because  he  was  a  tyrant,  but  you  would  make  me 
spend  my  life  in  the  tobacco-field!  You  are  a  tyrant,  too. 
I'm  to  be  a  man  just  as  you're  a  man.  You  went  your  way; 
well,  I'm  going  mine!  I'm  going  to  be  a  lawyer,  like  —  like 
Ludwell  Gary  at  Greenwood.  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  horse 
whip.  Strike,  and  be  damned  to  you !  You  can  break  every 
colt  in  the  country,  but  you  can't  break  me!  I've  seen  you 
strike  my  mother,  too!" 

"Way  down  in  New  Orleans, 

Beneath  an  orange  tree, 
Beside  the  lapping  water, 

Upon  the  old  levee, 
A-laughing  in  the  moonlight, 
There  sits  the  girl  for  me!  " 

sang  Gaudylock. 

"She's  sweeter  than  the  jasmine, 
Her  name  it  is  Delphine." 

The  day  wore  on,  the  land  grew  level,  and  the  clearings 
more  frequent.  Stretches  of  stacked  corn  appeared  like 
tented  plains,  brown  and  silent  encampments  of  the  autumn; 
and  tobacco-houses  rose  from  the  fields  whence  the  weed 
had  been  cut.  Blue  smoke  hung  in  wreaths  above  the  high 
roofs,  for  it  was  firing-time.  Now  and  then  they  saw,  far 
back  from  the  road  and  shaded  by  noble  trees,  dwelling- 
houses  of  brick  or  wood.  Behind  the  larger  sort  of  these 
appeared  barns  and  stables  and  negro  quarters,  all  very 
cheerful  in  the  sunny  October  weather.  Once  they  passed 
a  schoolhouse  and  a  church,  and  twice  they  halted  at  cross 
road  taverns.  The  road  was  no  longer  solitary.  Other 
slow-rolling  casks  of  tobacco  with  retinue  of  men  and  boys 


12  LEWIS   RAND 

were  on  their  way  to  Richmond,  and  there  were  white- 
roofed  wagons  from  the  country  beyond  Staunton.  Four 
strong  horses  drew  each  wagon,  manes  and  tails  tied  with 
bright  galloon,  and  harness  hung  with  jingling  bells.  What 
ever  things  the  mountain  folk  might  trade  with  were  in  the 
wagons,  —  butter,  flour,  and  dried  meat,  skins  of  deer  and 
bear,  hemp,  flaxseed,  wax,  ginseng,  and  maple  sugar.  Other 
vehicles  used  the  road,  growing  more  numerous  as  the  day 
wore  into  the  afternoon,  and  Richmond  was  no  longer  far 
away.  Coach  and  chaise,  curricle  and  stick-chair,  were 
encountered,  and  horsemen  were  frequent. 

In  1790  men  spoke  when  they  passed;  moreover,  Rand 
and  Gaudylock  were  not  entirely  unknown.  The  giant  figure 
of  the  one  had  been  seen  before  upon  that  road;  the  other 
was  recognized  as  a  very  able  scout,  hunter,  and  Indian 
trader,  restless  as  quicksilver  and  daring  beyond  all  reason. 
Men  hailed  the  two  cheerily,  and  asked  for  the  news  from 
Albemarle,  and  from  Kentucky  and  the  Mississippi. 

"Mr.  Jefferson  is  coming  home,"  answered  Rand;  and 
"Spain  is  not  so  black  as  she  is  painted,"  said  the  trader. 

"We  hear,"  quoth  the  gentleman  addressed,  "that  the 
Kentuckians  make  good  Spanish  subjects." 

"Then  you  hear  a  damned  lie,"  said  Gaudylock  imper- 
turbably.  "The  boot's  on  the  other  foot.  Ten  years  from 
now  a  Kentuckian  may  rule  in  New  Orleans." 

The  gentleman  laughed,  settled  back  in  his  stick-chair, 
and  spoke  to  his  horse.  "Mr.  Jefferson  is  in  Richmond," 
he  remarked  to  Rand,  and  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  tobacco-cask  and  its  guardians  kept  on  by  wood  and 
stream,  plantation,  tavern,  forge,  and  mill,  now  with  com 
panions  and  now  upon  a  lonely  road.  At  last,  when  the  frogs 
were  at  vespers,  and  the  wind  had  died  into  an  evening  still 
ness,  and  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  staining  the  autumn 


THE   ROAD   TO   RICHMOND  13 

foliage  a  yet  deeper  red,  they  came  by  way  of  Broad  Street 
into  Richmond.  The  cask  of  bright  leaf  must  be  deposited 
at  Shockoe  Warehouse;  this  they  did,  then  as  the  stars  were 
coming  out,  they  betook  themselves  to  where,  at  the  foot  of 
Church  Hill,  the  Bird  in  Hand  dispensed  refreshment  to 
man  and  beast. 


CHAPTER  II 

MR.    JEFFERSON 

BY  ten  of  the  Capitol  clock  Gideon  Rand  had  sold  his 
tobacco  and  deposited  the  price  in  a  well-filled  wal 
let.  "Eighteen  shillings  the  hundred,"  he  said,  with 
grim  satisfaction.  "And  the  casks  I  sent  by  Mocket  sold  as 
well!  Good  leaf,  good  leaf!  Tobacco  pays,  and  learning 
don't.  Put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  Lewis  Rand!" 

Father  and  son  came  out  from  the  cool,  dark  store,  upon 
the  unpaved  street,  and  joined  Adam  Gaudylock  where  he 
lounged  beneath  a  sycamore.  Up  and  down  the  street  were 
wooden  houses,  shops  of  British  merchants,  prosperous 
taverns,  and  dwelling-houses  sunk  in  shady  gardens.  An 
arrow-flight  away  brawled  the  river  among  bright  islands. 
The  sky  above  the  bronze  sycamores  was  very  blue,  the  air 
crystal,  the  sunshine  heavenly  mild.  The  street  was  not 
crowded.  A  Quaker  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat  went  by,  and 
then  a  pretty  girl,  and  then  a  minister  talking  broad  Scotch, 
and  then  a  future  chief  justice  who  had  been  to  market 
and  had  a  green  basket  upon  his  arm.  Gideon  drew  another 
breath  of  satisfaction.  "I've  been  thinking  this  long  time 
of  buying  a  negro,  and  now  I  can  do  it !  Mocket  says  there's 
a  likely  man  for  sale  down  by  the  market.  Lewis,  you  go 
straight  to  Mocket  now,  and  tell  him  I'll  wait  for  him  there! 
Are  you  coming  with  me,  Adam  Gaudylock  ?" 

"Why,"  said  Gaudylock,  with  candour,  "I  have  business 
presently  in  Governor  Street,  and  a  man  to  meet  at  the  In 
dian  Queen.  And  I  think  I'll  go  now  with  Lewis.  Somehow, 
the  woods  have  spoiled  me  for  seeing  men  bought  and  sold." 


MR.   JEFFERSON  15 

"They're  black  men,"  said  Rand  indifferently.  "I'll  see 
you,  then,  at  dinner-time,  at  the  Bird  in  Hand.  I'm  going 
home  to-morrow.  —  Lewis,  if  you  want  to,  you  can  look 
around  this  morning  with  Tom  Mocket!"  He  glanced  at 
his  son's  flushing  face,  and,  being  in  high  good  humour, 
determined  to  give  the  colt  a  little  rein.  "Be  off,  and  spend 
your  dollar!  See  what  sights  you  can,  for  we'll  not  be  in 
Richmond  again  for  many  a  day!  They  say  there's  a  brig 
in  from  Barbadoes." 

He  put  up  his  wallet,  and  with  a  nod  to  Gaudylock  strode 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  market,  but  presently  halted 
and  turned  his  head.  "Lewis!" 

"Yes,  father." 

"Don't  you  be  buying  any  more  books!   You  hear  me  ?" 

He  swung  away,  and  his  son  stood  under  the  sycamore 
tree  and  looked  after  him  with  a  darkened  face.  Gaudylock 
put  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "Never  mind,  Lewis!  Before 
we  part  I'm  going  to  talk  to  Gideon."  He  laughed.  "Do 
you  know  what  the  Cherokees  call  me  ?  They  call  me  Golden- 
Tongue.  Because,  you  see,  I  can  persuade  them  to  'most 
anything,  —  always  into  the  war-path,  and  sometimes  out 
of  it!  Gideon  may  be  obstinate,  but  he  can't  be  as  obstinate 
as  an  Indian.  Now  let  's  go  to  Mocket's." 

The  way  to  Mocket's  lay  down  a  steep  hillside,  and  along 
the  river-bank,  under  a  drift  of  coloured  leaves,  and  by  the 
sound  of  falling  water.  Mocket  dwelt  in  a  small  house,  in 
a  small  green  yard  with  a  broken  gate.  A  red  creeper  mantled 
the  tiny  porch,  and  lilac  bushes,  clucked  under  by  a  dozen 
hens,  hedged  the  grassy  yard.  As  the  hunter  and  Lewis 
Rand  approached,  a  little  girl,  brown  and  freckled,  barefoot 
and  dressed  in  linsey,  sprang  up  from  the  stone  before  the 
gate,  and  began  to  run  towards  the  house.  Her  foot  caught 
in  a  trailing  vine,  and  down  she  fell.  Adam  was  beside  her 


16  LEWIS   RAND 

at  once.  "Why,  you  little  partridge!"  he  exclaimed,  and 
lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

"It's  Vinie  Mocket,"  said  his  companion.  "Vinie, 
where 's  your  father  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  thir,"  answered  Vinie.  "Tom  knows. 
Tom's  down  there,  at  the  big  ship.  I'll  tell  him." 

She  slipped  from  Gaudylock's  clasp  .  and  pattered  off 
toward  the  river,  where  the  brig  from  Barbadoes  showed 
hull  and  masts.  The  hunter  sat  down  upon  the  porch  step, 
and  drew  out  his  tobacco  pouch.  "She's  like  a  partridge," 
he  said. 

"She's  just  Vinie  Mocket,"  answered  the  boy.  "There's 
a  girl  who  stays  sometimes  at  Mrs.  Selden's,  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road.  She's  not  freckled,  and  her  eyes  are 
big,  and  she  never  goes  barefoot.  I  reckon  it's  silk  she 


wears." 


"What's  her  name  ?"  asked  the  hunter,  filling  his  pipe. 

"Jacqueline  —  Jacqueline  Churchill.  She  lives  at  Fonte- 
noy." 

"Fontenoy's  a  mighty  fine  place,"  remarked  Gaudylock. 
"And  the  Churchills  are  mighty  fine  people.  —  Here's  the 
partridge  back,  with  another  freckle-face." 

"That's  Tom  Mocket,"  said  Lewis.  "If  Vinie's  a  par 
tridge,  Tom's  a  weasel." 

The  weasel,  sandy-haired  and  freckled,  came  up  the  path 
with  long  steps.  "Hi,  Lewis!  Father's  gone  toward  the 
market  looking  for  your  father.  That's  a  brig  from  the 
Indies  down  there,  and  the  captain's  our  cousin  —  ain't 
he,  Vinie  ?  I  know  who  you  are,  sir.  You're  Adam  Gaudy- 
lock,  the  great  hunter!" 

"So  I  am,  so  I  am!"  quoth  Adam.  "Look  here,  little 
partridge,  at  what  I've  got  in  my  pouch!" 

The  partridge  busied  herself  with  the  beaded  thing,  and 


MR.  JEFFERSON  17 

the  two  boys  talked  aside.  "I've  till  dinner  time  to  do  what 
I  like  in,"  said  Lewis  Rand.  "Have  you  got  to  work  ?" 

"Not  unless  I  want  to,"  Young  Mocket  answered  bliss 
fully.  "Father,  he  don't  care!  Besides"  -  he  swelled  with 
pride — "I  don't  work  now  at  the  wharf.  I'm  at  Chancellor 
Wythe's." 

"Chancellor  Wythe's!   What  are  you  doing  there  ?" 

"Helping    him.    Maybe,   by  and  by,   I'll   be    a   lawyer, 

> » 
too. 

"Heugh!"  said  the  other.  "Do  you  mean  you're  reading 
law  ?" 

"No-o,  not  just  exactly.  But  I  let  people  in  —  and  I  hear 
what  they  talk  about.  I  like  it  better  than  the  wharf,  any 
how.  I'll  go  with  you  and  show  you  things.  Is  Mr.  Gaudy- 
lock  coming  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Adam.  "I'll  finish  my  pipe,  and  take  a 
look  at  the  ship  down  there,  and  then  I'll  meet  a  friend 
at  the  Indian  Queen.  Be  off  with  you  both !  Vinie  will  stay 
and  talk  to  me." 

"Yeth,  thir,"  said  Vinie,  her  brown  arm  deep  in  the 
beaded  pouch. 

The  two  lads  left  behind  the  scarlet-clad  porch,  the  huntei 
and  Vinie,  the  little  green  yard  and  the  broken  gate.  "Where 
first?"  demanded  Tom. 

"Where  is  the  best  place  in  Richmond  to  buy  books  ?" 

Young  Mocket  considered.  "There's  a  shop  near  the 
bridge.  What  do  you  want  with  books  ?" 

"I  want  to  read  them.   We'll  go  to  the  bridge  first." 

Tom  hung  back.  "Don't  you  want  to  see  the  brig  from 
Barbadoes  ?  She's  a  beauty.  There's  a  schooner  from  Balti 
more,  too,  at  the  Rock  Landing.  You  won't  ?  Then  let's  go 
over  to  Widewilt's  Island.  Well,  they  whipped  a  man  this 
morning  and  he's  in  the  pillory  now,  down  by  the  market. 


18  LEWIS   RAND 

Let's  go  look  at  him.  —  Pshaw!  what's  the  use  of  books! 
Don't  you  want  to  see  the  Guard  turn  out  at  noon,  and  hear 
the  trumpet  blow  ?  Well,  come  on  to  the  bridge !  Nancy, 
the  apple-woman,  is  there  too." 

The  shop  near  the  bridge  to  which  they  resorted  was 
dark  and  low,  but  learning  was  spread  upon  its  counter,  and 
a  benevolent  dragon  of  knowledge  in  horn  spectacles  ran 
over  the  wares  for  Lewis  Rand.  "De  Jure  Maritimo,  six 
shillings  eightpence,  my  lad.  Burnet's  History  and  De 
mosthenes'  Orations,  two  crowns.  Mr.  Gibbon's  Decline 
and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  a  great  book  and  dear! 
Common  Sense  —  and  that's  Tom  Paine's,  and  you  may 
have  it  for  two  pistareens." 

The  boy  shook  his  head.    "I  want  a  law-book." 

The  genie  put  forth  The  Principles  of  Equity,  and 
named  the  price. 

"Tis  too  dear." 

A  gentleman  lounging  against  the  counter  closed  the  book 
into  which  he  had  been  dipping,  and  drew  nearer  to  the 
would-be  purchaser. 

"Equity  is  an  expensive  commodity,  my  lad,"  he  said 
kindly.  "How  much  law  have  you  read  ?" 

"I  have  read  The  Law  of  Virginia,"  answered  the  boy. 
"I  borrowed  it.  I  worked  a  week  for  Mr.  Douglas,  and  read 
The  Law  of  Nations  rest-hours.  Mrs.  Selden,  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road,  gave  me  The  Federalist.  Are  you  a  lawyer, 
sir?" 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and  the  genie  behind  the  counter 
laughed.  Young  Mocket  plucked  Lewis  Rand  by  the  sleeve, 
but  the  latter  was  intent  upon  the  personage  before  him  and 
did  not  heed. 

"Yes,"  said  the  gentleman,  "I  am  a  lawyer.  Are  you 
going  to  be  one  ?" 


MR.  JEFFERSON  19 

"I  am,"  said  the  boy.  "Will  you  tell  me  what  books  I 
ought  to  buy  ?  I  have  two  dollars." 

The  other  looked  at  him  with  keen  light  eyes.  "That 
amount  will  not  buy  you  many  books/'  he  said.  "You  should 
enter  some  lawyer's  office  where  you  may  have  access  to 
his  library.  You  spoke  of  the  Three-Notched  Road.  Are  you 
from  Albemarle  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.    I  am  Gideon  Rand's  son." 

"Indeed!  Gideon  Rand!  Then  Mary  Wayne  was  your 
mother?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  remember,"  said  the  gentleman,  "when  she  married 
your  father.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman.  I  heard  of  her 
death  while  I  was  in  Paris." 

The  boy's  regard,  at  first  solely  for  the  books,  had  been 
for  some  moments  transferred  to  the  gentleman  who,  it 
seemed,  was  a  lawyer,  and  had  known  his  people,  and  had 
been  to  Paris.  He  saw  a  tall  man,  of  a  spare  and  sinewy 
frame,  with  red  hair,  lightly  powdered,  and  keen  blue  eyes. 
Lewis  Rand's  cheek  grew  red,  and  his  eyes  at  once  shy  and 
eager.  He  stammered  when  he  spoke.  "Are  you  from  Albe 
marle,  sir  ?" 

The  other  smiled,  a  bright  and  gracious  smile,  irradiating 
his  ruddy,  freckled  face.  "I  am,"  he  said. 

"  From  —  from  Monticello  ? " 

"From  Monticello."  The  speaker,  who  loved  his  home 
with  passion,  never  uttered  its  name  without  a  softening  of 
the  voice.  "From  Monticello,"  he  said  again.  "There  are 
books  enough  there,  my  lad.  Some  day  you  shall  ride  over 
from  the  Three-Notched  Road,  and  I  will  show  you  them." 

"I  will  come,"  said  Lewis  Rand.  The  colour  deepened 
in  his  face  and  a  moisture  troubled  his  vision.  The  shop,  the 
littered  counter,  the  guardian  of  the  books,  and  President 


20  LEWIS   RAND 

Washington's  Secretary  of  State  wavered  like  the  sunbeam 
at  the  door. 

Jefferson  ran  his  hand  over  the  row  of  books.  "  Mr.  Smith, 
give  the  lad  old  Coke,  yes,  and  Locke  on  Government,  and 
put  them  to  my  account. — Where  do  you  go  to  school  ?" 

The  boy  swallowed  hard,  straightened  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  his  questioner  in  the  face.  "Nowhere,  sir  —  not  now. 
My  father  hates  learning,  and  I  wr  n  the  fields.  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  the  books,  —  and  had  I  best  buy 
Blackstone  with  the  two  dollars  ? " 

The  other  smiled.  "No,  no,  not  Blackstone.  Black- 
stone's  frippery.  You've  got  old  Coke.  Buy  for  yourself 
some  book  that  shall  mean  much  to  you  all  your  life.  —  Mr. 
Smith,  give  him  Plutarch's  Lives  —  Ossian,  too.  He's  rich 
enough  to  buy  Ossian.  —  As  for  law-books,  my  lad,  if  you 
will  come  to  Monticello,  I  will  lend  you  what  you  need.  I 
like  your  spirit."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  have  to  dine 
at  the  Eagle  with  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Randolph.  When 
do  you  return  to  Albemarle  ? " 

"To-morrow,  sir." 

"Then  I  may  overtake  you  on  the  road.  Once  I  did  your 
father  a  good  turn,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  word  with 
him  now.  He  must  .not  keep  the  son  of  Mary  Wayne  in  the 
fields.  Some  day  I  vill  ride  down  the  Three-Notched  Road, 
and  examine  you  on  old  Coke.  Don't  spare  study;  if  you  will 
be  a  lawyer,  become  a  good  one,  not  a  smatterer.  Good-day 
to  you ! " 

He  left  the  shop.  The  bookseller  gazed  after  him,  then 
nodded  and  smiled  at  the  boy.  "You  look  transfigured,  my 
lad!  Well,  he's  a  great  man,  and  he'll  be  a  greater  one  yet. 
He's  for  the  people,  and  one  day  the  people  will  be  for  him! 
I  '11  tie  up  your  books  —  and  if  you  can  make  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Jefferson,  you  do  it!" 


MR.  JEFFERSON  21 

Lewis  Rand  came  out  into  the  sunlight  with  "  old  Coke " 
and  Locke,  Plutarch  and  Ossian,  under  his  arm,  and  in  his 
soul  I  know  not  what  ardour  of  hero-worship,  what  surging 
resolve  and  aspiration.  Young  Mocket,  at  his  elbow,  re 
garded  him  with  something  like  awe.  "That  was  Mr.  Jeffer 
son,"  he  said.  "He  knows  General  Washington  and  Mar 
quis  Lafayette  and  Doctor  Franklin.  He's  just  home  from 
Paris,  and  they  have  n,  "e  him  Secretary  of  State — what 
ever  that  is.  He  wrote  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
He's  a  rich  man  —  he's  a  lawyer,  too.  He  lives  at  a  place 
named  Monticello." 

"I  know,"  said  Lewis  Rand,  "I've  been  to  Monticello. 
When  I  am  a  man  I  am  going  to  have  a  house  like  it,  with  a 
terrace  and  white  pillars  and  a  library.  But  I  shall  have  a 
flower  garden  like  the  one  at  Fontenoy." 

"Ho!  your  house!  Is  Fontenoy  where  Ludwell  Gary 
lives?" 

"No;  he  lives  at  Greenwood.  The  Churchills  live  at 
Fontenoy.  —  Now  we  '11  go  see  the  Guard  turn  out.  Is  that 
the  apple-woman  yonder  ?  I  've  a  half-a-bit  left." 

An  hour  later,  having  bought  the  apples,  and  seen  the  pil 
lared  Capitol,  and  respectfully  considered  the  outside  of 
Chancellor  Wythe's  law  office,  and  having  parted  until  the 
afternoon  with  Tom  Mocket,  who  ^.^ssed  an  engagement 
on  the  Barbadoes  brig,  young  Lewis  Rand  betook  himself 
to  the  Bird  in  Hand.  There  in  the  bare,  not  over  clean  cham 
ber  which  had  been  assigned  to  the  party  from  Albemarle, 
he  deposited  his  precious  parcel  first  in  the  depths  of  an  an 
cient  pair  of  saddle-bags,  then,  thinking  better  of  it,  under 
neath  the  straw  mattress  of  a  small  bed.  It  was  probable,  he 
knew,  that  even  there  his  father  might  discover  the  treasure. 
What  would  follow  discovery  he  knew  full  well.  The  beat 
ing  he  could  take;  what  he  would  n't  stand  would  be,  say, 


22  LEWIS   RAND 

Gideon's  flinging  the  books   into  the  fire.    "He  shan't,  he 
shan't,"  said  the  boy's  hot  heart.  "  If  he  does,  I'll  —  I  '11  —" 

Through  the  window  came  Gaudylock's  voice  from  the 
porch  of  the  Bird  in  Hand.  "You  Stay-at-homes  —  you 
don't  know  what's  in  the  wilderness!  There's  good  and 
there's  bad,  and  there's  much  beside.  It's  like  the  sea  — 
it's  uncharted." 

Lewis  Rand  closed  the  door  of  the  room,  and  went  out 
upon  the  shady  porch,  where  he  found  the  hunter  and  a  loun 
ging  wide-eyed  knot  of  listeners  to  tales  of  Kentucky  and  the 
Mississippi.  The  dinner-bell  rang.  Adam  fell  pointedly  si 
lent,  and  his  audience  melted  away.  The  hunter  rose  and 
stretched  himself.  "There  is  prime  venison  for  dinner,  and 
a  quince  tart  and  good  apple  brandy.  Ha!  I  was  always 
glad  I  was  born  in  Virginia.  Here  is  Gideon  swinging  down 
the  hill  —  Gideon  and  his  negro!" 

The  tobacco-roller  joined  them,  and  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand  indicated  his  purchase  of  the  morning.  This  was  a  tall 
and  strong  negro,  young,  supple,  and  of  a  cheerful  counten 
ance.  Rand  was  in  high  good-humour.  "He's  a  runaway, 
Mocket  says,  but  I  '11  cure  him  of  that !  He 's  strong  as  an 
ox  and  as  limber  as  a  snake."  Taking  the  negro's  hand  in 
his,  he  bent  the  fingers  back.  "Look  at  that!  easy  as  a  wil 
low!  He'll  strip  tobacco!  His  name  is  Joab." 

The  namesake  of  a  prince  in  Israel  looked  blithely  upon 
his  new  family.  "Yaas,  marster,"  he  said,  with  candour. 
"Dat  is  my  name  —  dat  sho'  is!  Jes'  Joab.  An'  I  is  strong 
as  en  ox,  —  don'  know  'bout  de  snaik.  Marster,  is  you  gwine 
tek  me  'way  from  Richmond  ? " 

"Albemarle,"  said  the  tobacco-roller  briefly.  "To-mor 
row  morning." 

Joab  studied  the  vine  above  the  porch.  "  Kin  I  go  tell  my 
ole  mammy  good-bye  ?  She 's  washin'  yonder  in  de  creek." 


MR.  JEFFERSON  23 

Rand  nodded,  and  the  negro  swung  off  to  where,  upon 
the  grassy  common  sloping  to  Shockoe  Creek,  dark  washer 
women  were  spreading  clothes.  The  bell  of  the  Bird  in  Hand 
rang  again,  and  the  white  men  went  to  dinner. 

Following  the  venison,  the  tart,  and  apple  brandy  came 
the  short,  bright  afternoon,  passed  by  Lewis  Rand  upon  the 
brig  from  the  Indies  with  Tom  Mocket  and  little  Vinie  and 
a  wrinkled  skipper  who  talked  of  cocoanuts  and  strange 
birds  and  red-handkerchiefed  pirates,  and  spent  by  Gideon 
first  in  business  with  the  elder  Mocket,  and  then  in  conversa 
tion  with  Adam  Gaudylock.  Lewis,  returning  at  supper-time 
to  the  Bird  in  Hand,  found  the  hunter  altered  no  whit  from 
his  habitual  tawny  lightness,  but  his  father  in  a  mood  that 
he  knew,  sullen  and  silent.  "Adam's  been  talking  to  him," 
thought  the  boy.  "And  it's  just  the  same  as  when  Mrs. 
Selden  talks  to  him.  Let  me  go  —  not  he ! " 

In  the  morning,  at  six  of  the  clock,  the  two  Rands,  the 
negro  Joab,  the  horses,  and  the  dogs  took  the  homeward  road 
to  Albemarle.  Adam  Gaudylock  was  not  returning  with 
them;  he  had  trader's  business  with  the  merchants  in  Main 
Street,  hunter's  business  with  certain  cronies  at  the  Indian 
Queen,  able  scout  and  man-of-information  business  in  Gov 
ernor  Street,  and  business  of  his  own  upon  the  elm-shaded 
walk  above  the  river.  Over  level  autumn  fields  and  up  and 
down  the  wooded  hills,  father  and  son  and  the  slave  travelled 
briskly  toward  the  west.  As  the  twilight  fell,  they  came  up  with 
three  white  wagons,  Staunton  bound,  and  convoyed  by  moun 
taineers.  That  night  they  camped  with  these  men  in  an  ex 
panse  of  scrub  and  sassafras,  but  left  them  at  dawn  and  went 
on  toward  Albemarle.  A  day  of  coloured  woods,  of  infre 
quent  clearings,  and  of  streams  to  ford,  ended  in  an  evening 
of  cool  wind  and  rosy  sky.  They  descended  a  hill,  halted, 
and  built  their  fire  in  a  grassy  space  beside  a  river.  Joab 


24  LEWIS   RAND 

tethered  the  horses  and  made  the  fire,  and  fried  the  bacon 
and  baked  the  hoecake.   As  he  worked  he  sano-- 

to 

"David  an'  Cephas,  an'  ole  brer  Mingo, 
Saul  an'  Paul,  an'  de  w'ite  folk  sinners  — 
Oh,  my  chillern,  follow  de  Lawd ! " 

Supper  was  eaten  in  silence.  When  it  was  over,  Gideon  Rand 
sat  with  his  back  against  a  pine  and  smoked  his  pipe.    His 
son  went  down  to  the  river  and  stretched  his  length  upon  a 
mossed  and  lichened  boulder.    The  deep  water  below  the 
stone  did  not  give  him  back  himself  as  had  done  the  stream 
let  five  days  before.    This  was  a  river,  marred  with  eddies 
and  with  drifting  wood,  and  red  with  the  soil.    The  evening 
wind  was  blowing,  and  the  sycamore  above  him  cast  its  bronze 
leaves  into  the  flood  which  sucked  them  under,  or  bore  them 
with  it  on  its  way  to  the  larger  river  and  the  ultimate  sea. 
This  stream  had  no  babbling  voice;   its  note  was  low  and 
grave.   Youth  and  mountain  sources  forgotten,  it  hearkened 
before  the  time  to  ocean  voices.    The  boy,  idle  upon  the 
lichened    stone,  listened  too,  to  distant   utterances,  to  the 
sirens  singing  beyond  the  shadowy  cape.   The  earth  soothed 
him;  he  lay  with  half  shut  eyes,  and  after  the  day's  hot  com 
munion  with  old  wrongs,  he  felt  a  sudden  peace.   He  was  at 
the  turn;  the  brute  within  him  quiet  behind  the  eternal  bars; 
the   savage   receding,   the   man   beckoning,   the   after   man 
watching  from  afar.   The  inner  stage  was  cleared  and  set  for 
a  new  act.    He  had  lowered  the  light,  he  had  rested,  and  he 
had  filled  the  interval  with  forms  and  determinations  beau-  , 
tiful  and  vague,  vague  as  the  mists,  the  sounds,  the  tossed 
arms  of  the  Ossian  he  had  dared  to  open  last  night,  before 
his  father,  by  the  camp-fire  of  the  mountaineers.   In  the  twi 
light  of  his  theatre  he  rested;  a  shadowy  figure,  full  of  mys 
teries,  full  of  possibilities,  a  boy  in  the  grasp  of  the  man  within 


MR.  JEFFERSON  25 

him,  neither  boy  nor  man  unlovable,  nor  wholly  unadmir- 
able,  both  seen,  and  seeing,  "through  a  glass  darkly." 

He  turned  on  his  side,  and  the  light  went  up  sharply.  A 
man  riding  a  beautiful  and  spirited  horse  was  coming  over 
the  hilltop.  Horse  and  rider  paused  a  moment  upon  the 
crest,  standing  clear  against  the  eastern  sky.  In  the  crystal 
air  and  the  sunset  glow  they  crowned  the  hill  like  a  horse  and 
rider  nobly  done  in  bronze.  A  moment  thus,  then  they  began 
to  pick  their  way  down  the  rocky  road.  Lewis  Rand  looked, 
and  started  to  his  feet.  That  horse  had  been  bred  in  Albe- 
marle,  and  that  horseman  he  had  met  in  Richmond.  The 
boy's  heart  beat  fast  and  the  colour  surged  to  his  cheek. 
There  was  little,  since  the  hour  in  the  bookshop,  that  he  would 
not  have  done  or  suffered  for  the  approaching  figure.  All 
along  the  road  from  Richmond  his  imagination  had  conjured 
up  a  score  of  fantastic  instances,  in  each  of  which  he  had 
rescued,  or  died  for,  or  had  in  some  impossibly  romantic 
and  magnificent  fashion  been  the  benefactor  of  the  man  who 
was  drawing  near  to  the  river  and  camp-fire.  As  superbly 
generous  as  any  other  youth,  he  was,  at  present,  in  his  pro 
gress  through  life,  in  the  land  of  shrines.  He  must  have  his 
idol,  must  worship  and  follow  after  some  visible  hero,  some 
older,  higher,  stronger,  more  subtle-fine  and  far-ahead  adven 
turer.  Heretofore,  in  his  limited  world,  Adam  Gaudylock 
had  seemed  nearest  the  gates  of  escape.  But  Adam,  he 
thought,  was  of  the  woods  and  the  earth,  even  as  his  father 
was,  and  as  the  tobacco  was,  and  as  he  himself  was.  His 
enormous  need  was  for  some  one  to  follow  whose  feet  were 
above  the  fat,  red  fields  and  the  leafy  trails.  All  this  was 
present  with  him  as  he  watched  the  oncoming  figure.  Great 
men  kept  their  word.  Had  not  Mr.  Jefferson  said  that  he 
would  overtake  them  ?  —  and  there  he  was !  He  was  com 
ing  down  to  the  camp-fire,  he  was  going  to  stop  and  talk 


26  LEWIS   RAND 

to  the  surly  giant,  like  Giant  Despair,  who  sat  and  smoked 
beside  it. 

Lewis  Rand  left  the  river  and  the  windy  sycamore  and 
hastened  across  the  sere  grass.  "Father,  father!"  he  cried. 
"Do  you  know  who  that  is  ?"  In  his  young  voice  there  was 
both  warning  and  appeal.  Adam  Gaudylock,  he  knew,  had 
spoken  to  his  father,  but  Gideon  had  given  no  sign.  Suppose, 
no  matter  who  spoke,  his  father  would  give,  forever,  no  other 
sign  than  that  oft  seen  and  always  hated  jerk  of  the  head 
toward  the  tobacco-fields  ? 

Gideon  Rand  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips.  "It's  Mr. 
Jefferson,"  he  answered  laconically.  "He's  the  one  man  in 
this  country  to  whom  I  'd  listen." 

Jefferson  rode  up  to  the  group  about  the  camp-fire,  checked 
his  horse,  and  gave  the  tobacco-roller  and  his  son  a  plain 
man's  greeting  to  plain  men.  The  eagerness  of  the  boy's  face 
did  not  escape  him;  when  he  dismounted,  flung  the  reins  of 
Wildair  to  his  groom,  and  crossed  the  bit  of  turf  to  the  fire 
beneath  the  pines,  he  knew  that  he  was  pleasing  a  young 
heart.  He  loved  youth,  and  to  the  young  he  was  always 
nobly  kind. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Rand,"  he  said.  "You  are  home 
ward  bound,  as  I  am.  It  is  good  to  see  Albemarle  faces  after 
years  of  the  French.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  son's 
acquaintance  yesterday.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  the  father 
of  a  son,  for  so  one  ceases  to  be  a  loose  end  and  becomes  a 
link  in  the  great  chain.  Your  son,  I  think,  will  do  you  honour. 
And,  man  to  man,  you  must  pay  him  in  the  same  coin.  We 
on  a  lower  rung  of  the  ladder  must  keep  our  hands  from  the 
ankles  of  the  climbers  above  us!  Make  room  for  me  on 
that  log,  my  lad !  Your  father  and  I  will  talk  awhile." 

Thus  it  was  that  an  able  lawyer  took  up  the  case  of  young 
Lewis  Rand.  It  was  the  lawyer's  pleasure  to  give  aid  to 


MR.  JEFFERSON  27 

youth,  and  to  mould  the  mind  of  youth.  He  had  many 
proteges,  to  all  of  whom  he  was  invariably  kind,  invariably 
generous.  The  only  return  he  exacted  was  that  of  homage. 
The  yoke  was  not  heavy,  for,  after  all,  the  homage  was  to 
Ideas,  to  large,  sagacious,  and  far-reaching  Thought.  It 
was  in  the  year  1790  that  he  broke  Gideon  Rand's  resistance 
to  his  son's  devotion  to  other  gods  than  those  of  the  Rands. 
The  year  that  followed  that  evening  on  the  Albemarle  road 
found  Lewis  Rand  reading  law  in  an  office  in  Charlottes- 
ville.  A  few  more  years,  and  he  was  called  to  the  bar;  a 
little  longer,  and  his  name  began  to  be  an  oft-spoken  one  in 
his  native  county,  and  not  unknown  throughout  Virginia. 


CHAPTER  III 

FONTENOY 

IN  the  springtime  of  the  year  1804  the  spectacle  of 
human  conduct  ranged  from  grave  to  gay,  from  gay  to 
grave  again  much  as  it  had  done  in  any  other  springtime 
of  any  other  year.  In  France  the  consular  chrysalis  was  about 
to  develop  imperial  wings.  The  British  Lion  and  the  Rus 
sian  Bear  were  cheek  by  jowl,  and  every  Englishman  turned 
his  spyglass  toward  Boulogne,  where  was  gathered  Buona 
parte's  army  of  invasion.  In  the  New  World  Spanish  troops 
were  reluctantly  withdrawing  from  the  vast  territory  sold 
by  a  Corsican  to  a  Virginian,  while  to  the  eastward  of  that 
movement  seventeen  of  the  United  States  of  America  pur 
sued  the  uneven  tenor  of  their  way.  Washington  had  been 
dead  five  years.  Alexander  Hamilton  was  yet  the  leading 
spirit  of  the  Federalist  party,  while  Thomas  Jefferson  was 
the  idol  of  the  Democrat-Republicans. 

In  the  sovereign  State  of  Virginia  politics  was  the  staple 
of  conversation  as  tobacco  was  the  staple  of  trade.  Party 
feeling  ran  high.  The  President  of  the  Union  was  a  Vir 
ginian  and  a  Republican;  the  Chief  Justice  was  a  Virginian 
and  a  Federalist.  Old  friends  looked  askance,  or  crossed  the 
road  to  avoid  a  meeting,  and  hot  bloods  went  a-duelling. 
The  note  of  the  time  was  Ambition ;  the  noun  most  in  use  the 
name  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte.  It  seemed  written  a'croSs 
the  firmament;  to  some  in  letters  of  light  and  to  others  in 
hell  fire.  With  that  sign  in  the  skies,  men  might  shudder  and 
turn  to  a  private  hearth,  or  they  might  give  loosest  rein  to 
desire  for  Fame.  In  the  columns  of  the  newspapers,  above 


FONTENOY  29 

the  name  of  every  Roman  patriot,  each  party  found  voice. 
From  a  lurid  background  of  Moreau's  conspiracy  and 
d'Enghien's  death,  of  a  moribund  English  King  and  Premier, 
of  Hayti  aflame,  and  Tripoli  insolent,  they  thundered,  like 
Cassandra,  of  home  woes.  To  the  Federalist,  reverencing  the 
dead  Washington,  still  looking  for  leadership  to  Hamilton, 
now  so  near  that  fatal  Field  of  Honour,  unconsciously  nour 
ishing  love  for  that  mother  country  from  which  he  had 
righteously  torn  himself,  the  name  of  Democrat-Republican 
and  all  that  it  implied  was  a  stench  in  the  nostrils.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  lover  of  Jefferson,  the  believer  in  the  French 
Revolution  and  that  rider  of  the  whirlwind  whom  it  had  bred, 
the  far-sighted  iconoclast,  and  the  poor  bawler  for  simplicity 
and  red  breeches,  all  found  the  Federalist  a  mere  burnished 
fly  in  the  country's  pot  of  ointment.  Nowhere  might  be 
found  a  man  so  sober  or  so  dull  as  to  cry,  "  A  plague  o'  both 
your  houses!" 

In  the  county  of  Albemarle  April  was  blending  with  May. 
The  days  were  soft  and  sunshiny,  apt  to  be  broken  by  a 
hurry  of  clouds,  of  slanting  trees,  and  silver  rain.  When  the 
sun  came  out  again,  it  painted  a  great  bow  in  the  heavens. 
Beneath  that  bright  token  bloomed  a  thousand  orchards; 
and  the  wheat  and  the  young  corn  waved  in  the  wet  breeze. 
The  land  was  rolling  and  red  in  colour,  with  beautiful  trees 
and  narrow  rivers.  Eastward  it  descended  to  misty  plains, 
westward  the  mountains  rose,  bounding  a  noble  landscape 
of  field  and  forest.  For  many  years  the  axe  had  swung  and 
trees  had  fallen,  but  the  forest  yet  descended  to  the  narrow 
roads,  observed  itself  in  winding  streams,  gloomed  upon 
the  sunlit  clearings  where  negroes  sang  as  they  tilled  the 
soil.  In  the  all-surrounding  green  the  plantations  showed 
like  intaglios.  From  pleasant  hillsides,  shady  groves,  and 
hamlets  of  offices  and  quarters,  the  sedate  red-brick,  white- 


30  LEWIS   RAND 

porticoed  "great  houses"  looked  easily  forth  upon  a  world 
which  interested  them  mightily. 

Upon  a  morning  in  late  April  of  the  year  1804,  the  early 
sunshine,  overflowing  such  a  plantation,  dipped  at  last  into 
a  hollow  halfway  between  the  house  and  the  lower  gates, 
and  overtook  two  young  creatures  playing  at  make-believe, 
their  drama  of  the  moment  being  that  of  the  runaway  servant. 

"Oh,  the  sun!"  wailed  Deb.  "We  can't  pretend  it's  dark 
any  longer!  God  has  gone  and  made  another  day!  We'll 
see  you  running  away,  —  all  of  us  white  folk,  and  the  over 
seer  and  Mammy  Chloe !  If  you  climb  this  willow,  the  dogs 
will  tree  you  like  they  did  Aunt  Dinah's  Jim !  Lie  down  and 
I'll  cover  you  with  leaves  like  the  babes  in  the  wood!" 

Miranda,  a  slim  black  limb  of  Satan  in  a  blue  cotton 
gown,  flung  herself  with  promptitude  upon  the  ground. 
"Heap  de  beech  leaves  an'  de  oak  leaves  upon  dis  heah  po' 
los'  niggah.  Oh,  my  Ian'!  don'  you  heah  'um  comin'  ?" 

Dead  leaves  fell  upon  her  in  a  shower,  and  her  accomplice 
gathered  more  with  frantic  haste.  "Oh,  it's  the  ghost  in 
the  tobacco-house!  it's  a  rock  rolling  down  the  mountain! 
it's  —  it's  something  splashing  in  the  swamp!" 

"Is  I  a-hidin'  in  de  swamp  ?  Den  don'  th'ow  no  oak  leaves 
on  dis  niggah,  for  dey  don'  grow  dyar.  Gawd  A'moughty, 
lis'en  to  de  river  roarin'!  I's  hidin'  by  de  river  —  I's  hidin' 
by  de  river!  I's  hidin'  by  de  river  Jordan!" 

Deb  swayed  to  and  fro,  beating  her  hands  in  her  excite 
ment.  "I  see  a  boat  —  a  great  big  boat!  It's  as  big  as  the 
Ark !  The  finders  are  in  it,  and  the  dogs  and  the  guns !  Let 
us  pray!  O  Jesus,  save  Miranda,  even  though  it  is  a  scarlet 
sin  to  run  away!  O  Jesus,  don't  let  them  take  her  to  the 
Court  House!  O  Jesus,  let  them  take  me — " 

Miranda  reared  herself  from  her  leafy  bed.  "Humph! 
what  you  gwine  do  at  de  Co'te  House?  Answer  me  dat! 


FONTENOY  31 

I  knows  what  de  Lawd  gwine  say.  He  gwine  say,  'Run  for 
it,  niggah ! '  Yaas,  Lawd,  I  sholy  gwine  do  what  you  say  — 
I  gwine  run  to  de  very  aidge  of  de  yearth. 

"Oh,  I  fool  you,  Mister  Oberseer  Man! 
Oh,  I  fool  you,  my  ole  Marster! 
Cotch  de  mockin'bird  co'tin'  in  de  locus', 
Cotch  de  bullfrog  gruntin'  in  de  ma'sh, 
Cotch  de  black  snake  trabellin'  'long  his  road, 
But  you  am'  gwine  see  dis  niggah  enny  mo' ! 

Miss  Deb,  ef  I  gets  to  de  big  gate  fust,  you  gwine  lemme 
hoi'  dat  doll  baby  Marse  Edward  gin  you?" 

Deb  brushed  the  last  oak  leaf  from  the  skirt  of  her  green 
gown,  tossed  her  yellow  hair  out  of  her  brown  eyes,  and 
scrambled  up  the  steep  side  of  the  dell  to  a  level  of  lawn  and 
flowers.  Her  handmaiden  followed  her,  and  they  paused 
for  breath  beneath  the  white  blooms  of  a  mighty  catalpa. 
A  hundred  yards  away,  across  an  expanse  of  dewy  turf,  rose 
the  great  house,  bathed  in  sunlight.  Box,  syringa,  and  honey 
suckle  environed  it,  and  a  row  of  poplars  made  a  back 
ground  of  living  green.  It  had  tall  white  pillars,  and  shallow 
steps  leading  down  to  a  gravelled  drive.  The  drive  was  over 
arched  by  elm  and  locust,  and  between  the  trees  was  planted 
purple  lilac.  All  of  fresh  and  fair  and  tender  met  in  the  late 
April  weather,  in  the  bright  and  song-filled  morning,  in  the 
dew  and  in  the  flowers.  Upon  the  steps,  between  the  white 
pillars,  were  gathered  several  muslined  figures,  flowery 
bright  to  match  the  morning.  In  the  drive  below,  two  horse 
men,  booted  and  spurred,  clad  in  many-caped  riding-coats 
and  attended  by  a  negro  groom,  were  in  the  act  of  lifting  tall 
hats  to  the  ladies  of  the  house  they  were  quitting. 

"Hi!"  panted  Miranda.  "Marse  Ludwell  Gary,  Marse 
Fairfax  Gary,  an'  dat  brack  niggah  Eli !  Whar  dey  gwine  dis 
mawnin'  ? " 


32  LEWIS  RAND 

"To  the  Court  House  —  to  the  election,"  answered  Deb. 
"I  know  all  about  it,  for  I  asked  Uncle  Edward.  If  the 
Federalists  win,  the  crops  will  be  good,  and  General  Washing 
ton  and  my  father  and  my  grandfather  will  lie  quiet  in  their 
graves.  We  are  Federalists.  If  the  Republicans  win,  the 
country  will  go  to  the  devil." 

"  Hi,  dat  so  ? "  said  Miranda.  "  Le  's  run  open  de  big  gate. 
Dey  two  gent'men  moughty  free  wid  dey  money." 

Racing  over  the  jewelled  turf,  mistress  and  maid  arrived 
at  the  big  gate  in  time  to  swing  it  open  before  the  approaching 
riders.  Young  Fairfax  Gary  laughed  and  tossed  a  coin  to 
Miranda,  who  bobbed  and  showed  her  teeth,  while  his  elder 
brother  stooped  gallantly  to  the  pretty  child  of  the  house  he 
was  leaving.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  are  like  in  your  narrow 
green  gown  and  your  blowing,  yellow  hair  ?  You  are  like 
a  daffodil  in  your  sister's  garden." 

"If  you  were  to  swing  me  up  from  the  ground,"  said  Deb 
meditatively,  "  I  could  stand  upon  the  toe  of  your  boot,  and 
hold  by  Pluto's  mane,  and  ride  with  you  as  far  as  the  creek. 
—  What  flower  is  Jacqueline  like  ?'' 

"Like  no  flower  that  blooms,"  said  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary. 
"Ah,  well  sprung,  Proserpina!  Now  shall  we  go  fast  as  the 
wind  ?" 

They  went  fast  as  the  wind  to  the  creek,  and  then  went 
like  the  wind  back  to  the  gate,  where  Ludwell  Gary  swung 
the  child  down  to  earth  and  the  waiting  Miranda. 

Deb  curtsied  to  him.  "Wish  me  good  luck,  Daffy-down- 
Dilly!"  he  said,  with  his  charming  smile. 

"I  do,"  she  answered  earnestly.  "I  hope  that  you  will 
kill  the  Devil." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "  Is  that  feasible  ?  I  don't  know  where 
to  find  him." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  fight  him   at  the  Court  House? 


FONTENOY  33 

Uncle  Edward  said  that  you  were  going  to  put  down 
Lucifer." 

The  two  brothers  broke  into  laughter.  "I  say,  Fair!" 
cried  the  elder.  "Has  Lewis  Rand  a  cloven  hoof?  I've 
scarcely  seen  him,  you  know,  since  I  went  to  England ! " 

"He's  all  cloven  hoof,  damn  him!"  the  other  answered 
cheerfully.  "Best  ride  on.  He'll  have  been  at  the  Court 
House  this  hour!" 

Ludwell  Gary  glanced  at  his  watch.  "Early  or  late,  the 
result  will  be  the  same.  The  county 's  going  for  him  twice 
over!" 

"A  damned  tobacco-roller's  son!"  growled  the  other. 

The  elder  brother  laughed.  "  *  A  man 's  a  man  for  a'  that/ 
Fair.  I  dare  say  old  Gideon  rolled  tobacco  with  all  his  might. 
As  for  his  son,  his  worst  enemy  —  and  I  don't  know  that  I 
am  that  —  could  n't  deny  him  courage  and  energy." 

"He's  a  dangerous  man — " 

"Most  men  are  who  have  won  by  fighting.  But  I  don't 
think  he  loves  violence.  Well,  well,  I  'm  coming !  Good-bye, 
little  one!" 

Deb  curtsied  and  Miranda  bobbed,  the  gentlemen  touched 
their  hats,  black  Eli  grinned,  the  horses  began  to  canter, 
and,  the  leafy  road  bending  sharply,  the  party  for  the  Court 
House  passed  suddenly  from  view  as  though  the  earth  had 
swallowed  them  up. 

Miranda  bent  her  eyes  upon  her  mistress.  "  Hit 's  time  you 
wuz  in  de  schoolroom.  An'  Lan'  o'  Goshen !  Jes'  look  at  yo' 
wet  shoes!  I  reckon  Mammy  Chloe  gwine  whup  me!" 

Deb  considered  her  stockings  and  slippers.  "There's  no 
school  to-day.  Mr.  Drew's  going  to  the  Court  House  to 
vote.  Uncle  Edward  says  it  is  the  duty  of  every  gentleman 
to  vote  against  this  damned  upstart  and  the  Democrat- 
Republican  party.  The  damned  upstart's  other  name  is 


34  LEWIS  RAND 

Lewis  Rand.  I  '11  ask  Jacqueline  to  beg  Mammy  Chloe  not 
to  whip  you.  I  like  wet  feet." 

The  parlour  at  Fontenoy  was  large  and  high  and  cool, 
hung  with  green  paper,  touched  with  the  dull  gold  of  old 
mirrors,  of  a  carved  console  or  two,  of  oval  frames  enclosing 
dim  portraits.  Long  windows  opened  to  the  April  breeze, 
and  from  above  the  high  mantel  a  Churchill  in  lovelocks 
and  plumed  hat  looked  down  upon  Jacqueline  seated  at  her 
harp.  She  was  playing  Water  parted  from  the  Sea,  play 
ing  it  dreamily,  with  an  absent  mind.  Deb,  hearing  the  music 
from  the  hall,  came  and  stood  beside  her  sister.  They  were 
orphans,  dwelling  with  an  uncle. 

"Jacqueline,"  said  the  child,  "do  you  believe  in  the 
Devil?" 

Jacqueline  played  on,  but  turned  a  lovely  face  upon  her 
sister.  "I  don't  know,  honey,"  she  said.  "I  suppose  we  must, 
but  I  had  rather  not." 

"Uncle  Edward  doesn't.  He  says  'What  the  Devil!' 
but  he  does  n't  believe  in  the  Devil.  Then  why  do  he  and 
Uncle  Dick  call  Mr.  Lewis  Rand  the  Devil  ?" 

Jacqueline's  hands  left  the  strings.  "They  neither  say 
nor  mean  that,  Deb.  Uncle  Dick  and'  Uncle  Edward  are 
Federalists.  They  do  not  like  Republicans,  nor  Mr.  Jeffer 
son,  nor  Mr.  Jefferson's  friends.  Mr.  Lewis  Rand  is  Mr. 
Jefferson's  friend,  and  he  is  his  party's  candidate  for  the 
General  Assembly,  and  so  they  do  not  like  him.  But  they 
do  not  call  him  such  names  as  that." 

"Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  doesn't  like  him  either,"  said  Deb. 
"Why,  Jacqueline?" 

"Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  is  his  political  opponent." 

"And  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary  called  him  a  damned  tobacco- 
roller's  son." 

Jacqueline  reddened.   "Mr.  Fairfax  Gary  might  be  thank- 


FONTENOY  35 

ful  to  have  so  informed  a  mind  and  heart.  It  is  well  to  blame 
a  man  for  his  birth ! " 

"Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  said,  'A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that/ 
What  does  that  mean,  Jacqueline?" 

"It  means,"  said  Jacqueline,  "that  —  that  man  stamps 
the  guinea,  but  God  sees  the  gold." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  a  story?"  demanded  Deb.  "Tell 
me  about  the  time  when  you  were  a  little  girl  and  you  used  to 
stay  at  Cousin  jane  Selden's.  And  about  the  poor  boy  who 
lived  on  the  next  place  —  and  the  apple  tree  and  the  little 
stream  where  you  played,  and  the  mockingbird  he  gave  you. 
And  how  his  father  was  a  cruel  man,  and  you  cried  because 
he  had  to  work  so  hard  all  day  in  the  hot  fields.  You  have  n't 
told  me  that  story  for  a  long  time." 

"I  have  forgotten  it,  Deb." 

"Then  tell  me  about  summer  before  last,  when  you  were 
at  Cousin  Jane  Selden's  again,  and  you  were  grown,  and 
you  saw  the  poor  boy  again  —  only  he  was  a  man  —  and 
his  father  was  dead,  and  he  talked  to  you  in  Cousin  Jane 
Selden's  flower  garden.  You  never  told  me  that  story  but 


once." 


"I  have  forgotten  that  one  too." 

"Why  does  your  breath  come  long  like  that,  Jacqueline? 
I  have  gotten  my  feet  wet.  Will  you  tell  Mammy  Chloe  not 
to  whip  Miranda?  Here  is  Uncle  Edward!" 

Major  Edward  Churchill  entered  from  the  garden,  for 
which  he  had  an  attachment  almost  comparable  to  his  love 
for  the  old  Fontenoy  library  and  the  Fontenoy  stables.  He 
was  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  slight,  withered,  high- 
nosed  and  hawk-eyed,  dressed  with  precision  and  carrying 
an  empty  sleeve.  The  arm  he  had  lost  at  Yorktown ;  a  tem 
per  too  hot  to  hold  he  daily  lost,  but  he  had  the  art  to  keep 
his  friends.  There  were  duels  to  his  account,  as  well  as  a 


36  LEWIS   RAND 

reputation  for  great  courage  and  coolness  during  the  late 
war.  Under  the  name  of  Horatius  he  contributed  to  The 
Virginia  Federalist  diatribes  of  a  polished  ferocity  against 
the  Democrat-Republicans  and  their  chief,  and  he  owned 
Mustapha,  the  noblest  race-horse  of  the  day.  He  was  a  bache 
lor,  a  member  of  the  Cincinnati,  a  Black  Cockade,  a  friend 
of  Alexander  Hamilton,  a  scholar,  and  a  sceptic;  a  proud, 
high,  fiery  man,  who  had  watched  at  the  death-bed  of  many 
things.  He  made  his  home  with  his  brother,  the  master  of 
Fontenoy ;  and  his  niece  Jacqueline,  the  daughter  of  a  younger, 
long  dead  brother,  was  to  him  youth,  colour,  music,  and  ro 
mance. 

"The  moss-rose  is  in  bloom,"  he  announced,  standing  in 
the  parlour  door.  "Come  see  it,  Jacqueline." 

They  went  out  into  the  garden  and  stood  before  the  moss- 
rose  bush.  "Oh,  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Jacqueline,  and 
touched  the  rose  with  her  lips.  It  was  sunny  in  the  garden, 
and  the  box  smelled  strong  and  sweet.  The  Major  plucked 
a  sprig  and  studied  it  as  though  box  were  a  rarity.  "I  have 
found,"  he  said,  "  Ludwell  Gary's  visit  highly  agreeable.  He 
has  come  home  to  Virginia  as  likely  a  man  as  one  could 
find  in  a  summer  day.  He  adorns  the  state.  1  predict  for 
him  a  long  and  successful  career." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  assented  Jacqueline.  "I  like  him  very 
much.  How  well  he  talks!  And  travel  has  not  made  him 
forget  the  old  days  here." 

The  Major  plucked  another  sprig  of  box.  "In  the  old 
days,  my  dear,  your  father  and  your  Uncle  Dick  and  I  used 
to  plan  —  well,  well,  castles  in  Spain!  castles  in  Spain!  But 
he's  a  handsome  fellow!" 

"He  is  indeed,"  said  Jacqueline.  "His  eyes  are  especially 
fine.  I  like  that  clear  grey  —  frank  and  kind." 

"He  has  sense  and  principle  —  he  has  mind." 


FONTENOY  37 

"That  is  evident,"  answered  his  niece.  "He  does  every 
thing  admirably.  Last  night  after  supper  he  read  to  Unity 
and  me.  He  reads  extremely  well.  The  book  was  the  Death 
of  Wallenstein.  He  made  me  see  that  murder!  My  heart 
stood  still." 

"He  is  to  be  admired  for  standing  up  to-day  against  that 
damned  demagogue,  Lewis  Rand !  No  matter  if  he  is  de 
feated.  Every  gentleman  applauds  him.  You  women  adore 
victory,  but  let  me  tell  you,  a  vanquished  Federalist  is  still 
the  conqueror  of  any  ranting  Republican!" 

"Did  I  tell  you,"  asked  Jacqueline,  "that  Mr.  Pincornet 
holds  the  dancing  class  at  Fontenoy  this  week  ?" 

"The  dancing  class  be  damned!  Ludwell  Gary  is  a  man 
and  a  gentleman,  Jacqueline — ' 

"Yes,"  said  Jacqueline. 

The  Major  threw  away  his  sprig  of  box.  "The  Sphinx 
was  a  woman,  and  every  woman  is  an  incarnate  riddle! 
Why  don't  you  care  for  him,  Jacqueline?" 

"I  do  care  for  him.    I  like  him  very  much." 

"Pshaw!"  said  the  Major  irritably.  "Don't  look  at  that 
rose  any  longer !  It 's  cankered !  And  it 's  time  that  Dick  and 
I  were  off.  We  vote  — "  he  put  his  shapely,  nervous  hand 
upon  his  niece's  shoulder  —  "we  vote,  Jacqueline,  for  Lud 
well  Gary." 

"Yes,  uncle,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  know  —  I  know." 

Colonel  Dick  Churchill,  large  and  beaming,  and  Major 
Edward  Churchill,  thin  and  saturnine,  rode  away,  and  from 
between  the  white  pillars  Deb  and  Jacqueline  watched  them 
go.  Colonel  Dick's  wife  was  an  invalid,  and  lay  always  in  the 
cool  and  spacious  "  chamber,"  between  dimity  bed  curtains, 
with  her  key  basket  on  the  counterpane. 

"Jacqueline,"  said  Deb,  "whom  do  you  vote  for?" 

"Women  do  not  vote,  honey." 


38  LEWIS  RAND 

"But  if  you  did  vote,  Jacqueline?" 

"Do  you  remember,"  asked  Jacqueline,  "how  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu  offended  Mr.  Alexander  Pope?" 

"Ah,"  said  Deb.  "I'm  little,  and  I  ask  questions,  but 
I  'm  not  crooked !  Will  Mr.  Lewis  Rand  ever  come  to  Fonte- 
noy,  Jacqueline  ? " 

"You  are  going  to  wear  your  blue  gown  to  the  dancing 
class,"  said  Jacqueline.  "Unity  is  going  to  wear  her  yellow 
jaconet,  and  I  shall  wear  white.  I  will  make  you  a  wreath 
of  syringa  like  stars.  And  you  may  wear  your  gloves." 

"Oh-h!"  breathed  Deb.  "And  my  cornelian  ring  —  and 
the  flowered  scarf — and  —  and  your  fan,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  am  tired  this  morning,  Deb. 
The  sunlight  is  so  strong.  I  think  I  '11  go  darken  my  room, 
and  lie  down  upon  my  bed." 

"Does  your  head  ache  ?" 

'  Yes,  my  head,"  said  Jacqueline,  and  went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE     TWO     CANDIDATES 

THE  town,  established  forty  years  before  this  April 
morning,  had  been  named  for  a  Princess  of  Mecklen- 
burg-Strelitz,  lately  become  Queen  of  England.  Dur 
ing  the  Revolution  it  had  been  the  scene  of  a  raid  of  Tarle- 
ton's  and  a  camp  of  detention  for  British  prisoners.  It  was 
the  county  seat  to  which  three  successive  presidents  of  the 
United  States  must  travel  to  cast  their  votes ;  and  somewhat 
later  than  the  period  of  this  story  it  was  to  rub  elbows  with  a 
great  institution  of  learning.  No  city  even  in  our  own  time,  it 
was,  a  hundred  years  ago,  slight  enough  in  size  to  suit  the 
genius  for  tempered  solitude  characteristic  of  a  tobacco- 
growing  State. 

A  few  dwelling-houses  of  frame  and  brick  rose  from  an 
emerald  mist  of  gardens,  and  there  were  taverns,  much  at  the 
service  of  all  who  came  to  town  with  money  in  their  purse. 
The  Swan  allured  the  gentlefolk  of  the  county,  the  coach- 
and-four  people,  Jehus  of  light  curricles,  and  riders  of  blooded 
horses.  The  Eagle  had  the  stage-coach  patronage,  and  thrice 
a  week  blew  a  lusty  horn.  Besides  the  inns  and  the  dwelling- 
houses  there  were  stores  and  a  half-built  church,  the  Court 
House,  and  the  shady  Court  House  yard. 

For  a  great  part  of  the  time,  the  Court  House,  the  centre 
of  gravity  for  the  county,  appeared  to  doze  in  the  sunshine. 
At  stated  intervals,  however,  it  awoke,  and  the  drowsy  town 
with  it.  Once  awake,  both  became  very  wide  awake  indeed. 
Court  days  doubled  the  population;  an  election  made  a  bee 
hive  of  the  place. 


40  LEWIS   RAND 

It  was  the  fourth  Wednesday  in  April,  and  election  day. 
A  man  was  to  be  sent  to  the  House  of  Delegates  at  Rich 
mond.  All  likelihood  was  upon  the  side  of  the  candidate  of 
the  Democrat-Republicans,  but  the  Federalists  had  a  fight 
ing  chance.  There  were  reasons  why  this  especial  election 
was  of  great  interest  to  the  county,  and  the  motto  of  both 
parties  was  "No  malingering!"  Early  in  the  morning,  by 
the  Three-Notched  Road,  the  Barracks  Road,  and  the  Sec 
retary's  Road,  through  the  shady  Thoroughfare,  over  the 
misty  Rivanna,  the  Hardware,  and  the  Rapidan,  the  county 
began  to  pour  electors  into  Charlottesville.  They  came  upon 
wheels,  on  horseback,  and  afoot;  the  strong  and  the  weak, 
the  halt  and  the  blind,  the  sick  and  the  well,  the  old  and  the 
young,  all  the  free  men  of  Albemarle,  all  alert,  all  pleasur- 
ably  excited  over  the  prospect  of  the  fight. 

Without  the  Court  House  yard,  under  the  locust  trees  to  the 
right  of  the  open  gate,  were  placed  long  tables,  and  on  them 
three  mighty  punch-bowls,  flanked  by  drinking-cups  and 
guarded  by  house  servants  of  venerable  appearance  and  stately 
manners.  Here  good  Federalists  refreshed  themselves.  To  the 
left  of  the  gate,  upon  the  trampled  grass  beneath  a  mulberry, 
appeared  other  punch-bowls,  and  in  addition  a  barrel  of 
whiskey,  ready  broached  for  all  good  Democrat-Republi 
cans.  The  sunny  street  was  filled  with  horses,  vehicles,  and 
servants;  the  broad  path  between  the  trees,  the  turf  on  either 
hand,  and  the  Court  House  steps  were  crowded  with  riotous 
voters.  All  ranks  of  society,  all  ages,  occupations,  and  opin 
ions,  met  in  the  genial  weather,  beneath  the  trees  where  sang 
every  bird  of  spring. 

Within  the  Court  House  the  throng,  slight  at  first,  was 
rapidly  increasing.  The  building  was  not  large,  and  from 
end  to  end,  and  on  the  high  window-sills  beneath  the  long 
green  blinds,  the  people  pushed  and  shoved  and  stood  a-tiptoe. 


THE   TWO    CANDIDATES  41 

It  was  yet  early  morning,  and  for  some  unexplained  reason 
the  Federalist  candidate  had  not  arrived. 

Upon  the  Justice's  Bench,  raised  high  above  the  crowded 
floor,  sat  the  candidate  of  the  Democrat-Republicans  — 
the  Republicans,  pure  and  simple,  as  they  were  beginning  to 
be  called.  Near  him  stood  the  sheriff  and  the  deputy-sheriff; 
around  him  pressed  committee-men,  heelers  with  tallies, 
vociferous  well-wishers,  and  prophets  of  victory,  and  a  few, 
a  very  few,  personal  and  private  friends.  On  the  other  hand, 
strongly  gathering  and  impatiently  awaiting  their  candidate, 
his  foes  gloomed  upon  him.  Everywhere  was  a  buzzing  of 
voices :  farmers  and  townspeople  voting  loudly,  the  sheriff 
as  loudly  recording  each  vote,  the  clerk  humming  over  his 
book,  the  crowd  making  excited  comment.  There  was  no 
ballot-voting;  it  was  a  viva  voce  matter,  and  each  man  knew 
his  fellow's  creed. 

Lewis  Rand  sat  at  ease,  a  tall  and  personable  man,  with 
the  head  of  a  victor,  and  a  face  that  had  the  charm  of  strength. 
The  eye  was  keen  and  dark,  the  jaw  square,  the  thick  brown 
hair  cut  short,  as  was  the  Republican  fashion.  His  dress  was 
plain  but  good,  worn  wTith  a  certain  sober  effect,  an  "it 
pleases  me,"  that  rendered  silk  and  fine  ruffles  superfluous. 
He  was  listening  to  a  wide-girthed  tavern-keeper  and  old 
soldier  of  the  Revolution's  loud  declaration  that  Lewis  Rand 
was  the  coming  man,  and  that  he  was  for  Lewis  Rand.  The 
old  county  wanted  no  English-thinking  young  Federalist  in 
Richmond.  "Too  many  Federalists  there  a' ready !  Mr.  Lewis 
Rand,  Mr.  Sheriff!" 

The  Republicans  applauded.  The  custom  of  the  time 
required  that  the  man  voted  for  should  thank  the  man  who 
voted,  and  that  aloud  and  aptly,  with  no  slurring  acknow 
ledgment  of  service.  Lewis  Rand,  a  born  speaker  and  fa 
miliar  with  his  audience,  was  at  no  loss.  "I  thank  you,  Mr. 


42  LEWIS   RAND 

Fagg !  May  your  shadow  never  grow  less !  The  old  county 
—  Mr.  Jefferson's  county,  gentlemen  —  may  be  trusted  to 
hold  its  own,  in  Richmond  or  in  Washington,  in  Heaven  or 
in  Hell !  Mr.  Fagg,  I  will  drink  your  health  in  punch  of  the 
Eagle's  brewing!  Your  very  obliged  friend  and  servant!" 

From  street  and  yard  without  came  a  noise  of  cheering, 
with  cries  of  "  Black  Cockade !  Black  Cockade !  The  party 
of  Washington  —  Washington  forever!  —  The  old  county 
for  Cary !  —  Albemarle  for  Cary !  —  The  county  for  a  gen 
tleman!" 

"Mr.  Ludwell  Cary  has  arrived,"  announced  the  sheriff. 

"Here  comes  the  gentleman ! "  cried  a  man  from  a  window- 
sill.  "Stand  up,  Lewis  Rand,  and  show  him  a  man!" 

The  throng  at  the  door  parted,  and  with  a  Federalist  and 
distinguished  following  the  two  Carys  entered,  the  elder 
quiet  and  smiling,  the  younger  flushed,  bright-eyed,  and 
anxious.  The  attachment  between  these  two  brothers  was 
very  strong;  it  was  to  be  seen  in  every  glance  that  passed  be 
tween  them,  in  every  tone  of  voice  used  by  each  to  the  other. 
The  elder  played  fond  Mentor,  and  the  younger  thought 
his  brother  a  demi-god.  They  were  men  of  an  old  name,  an 
old  place,  an  inherited  charm.  "Ludwell  Cary!"  cried  a 
man.  "Long  live  Ludwell  Cary!" 

Rand  left  the  Justice's  Bench,  stepped  forward,  and 
greeted  his  opponent.  The  two  touched  hands.  "I  trust  I 
see  you  in  health,  Mr.  Cary  ? " 

"  Mr.  Rand,  I  thank  you,  I  am  very  well.  You  are  early 
in  the  lists ! " 

"I  am  accustomed  to  early  rising,"  answered  Rand.  "This 
morning  I  have  ridden  from  the  Wolf  Trap.  Will  you  sit  ?" 

"Ah,"  said  Cary,  "I  rode  from  Fontenoy.  After  you,  sir!" 

They  sat  down,  side  by  side,  upon  the  Justice's  Bench,  the 
Federalist  very  easy,  the  Republican,  lacking  the  perfection  of 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  43 

the  other's  manner,  with  a  stiffness  and  constraint  of  which  he 
was  aware  and  which  he  hated  in  himself.  He  knew  himself 
well  enough  to  know  that  presently,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
race,  the  ugly  mantle  would  slip  from  the  braced  athlete, 
but  at  the  moment  he  felt  his  disadvantage.  Subtly  and 
slowly,  released  from  some  deep,  central  tarn  of  his  most 
secret  self,  a  vapour  of  distaste  and  dislike  began  to  darken 
the  cells  of  clear  thought.  As  a  boy  he  had  admired  and 
envied  Ludwell  Gary;  for  his  political  antagonist,  pure  and 
simple,  he  had,  unlike  most  around  him,  often  the  friendliest 
feeling;  but  now,  sitting  there  on  the  Justice's  Bench,  he 
wondered  if  he  were  going  to  hate  Gary.  Suddenly  an 
image  came  out  of  the  vapour.  "How  long  has  he  been  at 
Fontenoy  ?  Does  he  think  he  can  win  there,  too  ? " 

The  younger  Gary  marched  to  the  polls  with  his  head  held 
high,  and  voted  loudly  for  his  brother.  The  latter  smiled 
upon  him,  and  said  with  simplicity,  "Thank  you,  Fair!" 
The  Republican  candidate  looked  attentively  at  the  young 
man.  The  spirit  and  the  fire,  subdued  in  the  *elder  brother, 
was  in  the  younger  as  visible  as  lightning.  Rand  was  quick 
at  divining  men,  and  now  he  thought,  "This  man  would 
make  a  tireless  enemy." 

Following  Fairfax  Gary  came  another  of  the  group  who 
had  entered  with  the  Carys.  "Mr.  Peyton  votes  for  Mr. 
Ludwell  Gary!"  cried  the  sheriff.  The  Federalists  ap 
plauded,  the  Republicans  groaned,  the  tallymen  took  note, 
and  Gary  bowed  his  thanks.  "Mr.  Peyton,  your  very  humble 
servant!  Mount  Eagle  and  Greenwood  are  old  comrades- 
at-arms ! " 

"I'll  kill  your  vote,  Craven  Peyton!"  came  a  voice.  "I 
vote,  Mr.  Sheriff,  for  Lewis  Rand!" 

"Ludwell  Gary!"  cried  another,  "and  there's  a  killer 
killed,  Dick  Carr!" 


44  ,  LEWIS   RAND 

"I'll  draw  a  bead  on  you,  Gentry!"  put  in  a  third.  "The 
best  shot  in  the  county,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and  that 's  Lewis  Rand ! " 

"Lewis  Rand  stands  ten  ahead!"  cried  a  committee-man; 
and  the  sheriff,  "  Gentlemen,  gentlemen !  order  at  the  polls ! " 

A  small,  wizened  man,  middle-aged  and  elaborately 
dressed  in  much  ancient  and  tarnished  finery,  came  bowing 
through  the  crowd.  A  curled  wig  shadowed  a  narrow  face, 
and  lace  ruffles  fell  over  long-fingered  hands,  yellow  as  old 
ivory.  The  entire  figure  was  fantastic,  even  a  little  grotesque, 
though  after  a  pleasant  fashion.  In  a  mincing  voice  and 
with  a  strong  French  accent,  M.  Achille  Pincornet,  dancing- 
master  and  performer  on  the  violin,  intimated  that  he  wished 
to  vote  for  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary.  Lewis  Rand  glanced  sharply 
up,  then  made  a  sign  to  a  sandy-haired  and  freckled  man  who, 
tally  in  hand,  stood  near  him. 

"  I  challenge  that  vote ! "  cried  the  man  with  the  tally. 

"Mr.  Pincornet's  vote  is  challenged!"  shouted  the  sheriff. 
"Order,  order,  gentlemen!  Your  reason,  Mr.  Mocket?" 

"The  gentleman  is  a  Frenchman  and  not  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States !  He  is  not  even  a  citizen  of  the  French  Re 
public!  He  is  an  emigre.  He  has  no  vote.  Mark  off  his 
name!" 

"Sir!"  cried  the  challenged  voter,  "I  am  a  de  Pincornet, 
cadet  of  a  house  well  known  in  Gascony !  If  I  left  France, 
I  left  it  to  find  a  great  and  free  country,  a  country  where  one 
gentleman  may  serve  another!" 

A  roar  of  laughter,  led  by  Mocket,  arose  from  the  younger 
and  lower  sort  of  Republicans.  "But  you  do  serve,  Mr. 
Pincornet!  You  teach  all  the  'Well-born'  how  to  dance!" 

"Did  n't  you  teach  the  Carys  ?   They  dance  beautifully." 

"Are  brocaded  coats  still  worn  in  Gascony  ?" 

"Ne  sutor  supra  crepidam  judicaret!  Caper  all  you  please 
on  a  waxed  floor,  but  leave  Virginians  to  rule ! " 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  45 

Fairfax  Gary,  hot  and  angry,  put  in  an  oar.  "Mr.  Sheriff, 
Mr.  Sheriff!  Mr.  Pincornet  has  lived  these  twelve  years  in 
Albemarle !  We  have  no  more  respected,  no  more  esteemed 
citizen.  His  vote's  as  good  as  any  man's  —  and  rather 
better,  I  may  remark,  than  that  of  some  men ! "  He  looked 
pointedly  at  Mocket. 

Lewis  Rand  gave  his  henchman  a  second  guiding  glance. 

"It  is  merely,"  said  Mocket  promptly,  "a  question  of 
that  Alien  Law  of  which  the  l  Well-born '  are  so  proud.  Show 
your  papers,  Mr.  Pincornet.  If  you  are  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  you  have  papers  to  show  for  it." 

"Yes,  sir,"  agreed  the  sheriff.  "That's  right,  Mr.  Mocket. 
Let  me  see  your  papers,  Mr.  Pincornet." 

"Papers,  papers!  I  have  no  papers!"  cried  Mr.  Pincornet. 
"  But  every  gentleman  here  —  and  I  have  no  care  for  the 
canaille  —  knows  that  I  live  in  Albemarle,  in  a  small  house 
between  Greenwood  and  Fontenoy!  I  have  lived  there  since 
I  left  France  in  the  abhorred  year  of  '92,  with  tears  of  rage 
in  my  eyes !  I  came  to  this  land,  where,  seeing  that  I  must 
eat,  and  that  my  dancing  was  always  admired,  I  said  to  my 
self,  '  Tenez,  Achille,  my  friend,  we  will  teach  these  Virgin 
ians  to  dance ! '  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary  has  been  my  pupil,  and  it 
gives  me  pleasure  to  vote  for  his  brother  to  go  make  the  laws 
for  my  adopted  country — " 

"I  'm  sorry,  Mr.  Pincornet,"  interrupted  the  sheriff,  "but 
you  have  no  vote.  I  '11  have  to  ask  you  to  stand  aside." 

"Come  up  here,  Mr.  Pincornet,"  said  Gary,  from  the  Just 
ice's  Bench.  "I  want  to  ask  you  about  a  gentleman  of  your 
name  whom  I  had  the  honour  to  meet  in  London  —  M.  le 
Vicomte  de  Pincornet,  a  very  gallant  man — " 

"That,"  said  the  dancing  master,  "would  be  my  cousin 
Alexandre.  He  escaped  during  the  Terror  hidden  under  a 
load  of  hay,  his  son  driving  in  a  blouse  and  red  nightcap. 


46  LEWIS   RAND 

Will  Mr.  Gary  honour  me  ? "  and  out  came  a  tortoise-shell 
snuff-box. 

The  voting  quickened.  "Rand  is  ahead  —  Rand  is  win 
ning!"  went  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Fairfax  Gary,  caring 
much  where  his  brother  cared  little,  welcomed  impetuously 
the  wave  of  Federalists  which  that  rumour  brought  in  from 
the  yard  and  street.  "Ha,  Mr.  Gilmer,  Mr.  Carter,  you  are 
welcome !  Who  votes  ?  Who  votes  as  General  Hamilton 
and  Mr.  Adams  and  Judge  Marshall  vote  ?  Who  votes  as 
Washington  would  have  voted  ?" 

So  many  crowded  to  vote  ask  Washington  would  have 
voted,  that  it  almost  seemed  as  though  his  shade  might  lead 
the  Federalists  to  victory.  But  the  dead  Washington  must 
cope  with  the  living  Jefferson;  mild  monarchism  and  stately 
rule  with  a  spirit  born  of  time,  nursed  by  Voltaire  and  Jean- 
Jacques  Rousseau,  grown  articulate  in  the  French  Revolu 
tion,  and  now  full  swing  toward  majority.  When  thrown, 
the  Democrat-Republicans  rose  from  the  earth  like  Antaeus. 
Much  of  the  gentle  blood  and  many  of  the  prominent  men 
of  the  county  voted  for  Lewis  Rand.  Jefferson's  personal 
following  of  friends  and  kinsmen  was  large;  these  accepted 
his  man  as  a  matter  of  course,  while  to  the  plain  men  of  the 
county  Lewis  Rand  was  more  even  than  the  coming  man: 
he  was  of  them;  he  was  a  plain  man.  The  clamour  and 
excitement  grew.  "Here  come  the  Three-Notched  Road 
people ! "  cried  a  voice.  "They  all  rolled  tobacco  with  Gideon 
Rand!" 

The  Three-Notched  Road  people  voted  to  a  man  for  the 
son  of  Gideon  Rand,  and  were  promptly  reinforced  by  a 
contingent  of  hot  Republicans  from  the  Ragged  Mountains. 
At  ten  o'clock  Lewis  Rand  was  again  well  ahead,  but  at  this 
hour  there  was  a  sharp  rally  of  the  Federalists.  A  cheering 
from  without  announced  the  arrival  of  some  popular  voter, 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  47 

and  Colonel  Churchill  and  his  brother,  Major  Edward,  and 
an  array  of  Federalists  from  the  Fontenoy  district,  entered 
the  Court  House. 

"The  Churchills  are  coming,  Oho!  Oho!"  sang  out  a  wag 
perched  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Not  to  that  tune,"  roared  a  Scot  from  the  gallery.  "  Mon, 
they're  Tories!" 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  order  at  the  polls!"  shouted 
the  sheriff.  "Colonel  Churchill,  for  whom  do  you  vote?" 

"I  vote,  sir,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "for  Mr.  Ludwell  Cary, 
for  a  gentleman  and  a  patriot,  sir,  and  may  the  old  county 
never  be  represented  but  by  such ! " 

"Order,  order  at  the  polls!  Colonel  Churchill  votes  for 
Mr.  Ludwell  Cary !  Major  Edward  Churchill,  whom  do  you 
vote  for  ? " 

"  For  whom  do  you  suppose,  Mr.  Sheriff  ? "  said  the  Major. 
"For  Mr.  Ludwell  Cary." 

Cary  rose  from  the  bench  and  stepped  forward  to  the  edge 
of  the  platform.  "Colonel  Dick,  Major  Edward,  I  thank 
you  both.  May  I  deserve  your  confidence  and  your  favour! 
Fontenoy  is  as  dear  to  me  as  Greenwood." 

"  By  God,  you  shall  win,  Ludwell ! "  cried  Colonel  Dick. 
"Here's  a  regiment  of  us  to  see  you  through!" 

"  Rome  has  n't  fallen  yet,"  added  Major  Edward.  "  I  don't 
hear  the  geese  cackling." 

"One's  cackling  now,"  smiled  Cary,  and  Mr.  Tom  Mocket 
stepped  up  to  the  polls. 

"It's  not  a  goose;  it's  a  turkey  buzzard!" 

"It's  not  feathered  at  all,"  said  Fairfax  Cary.  "It's  a 
mangy  jackal  to  a  mangy  lion." 

The  young  man  had  spoken  loudly  and  contemptuously. 
Rand,  on  the  Justice's  Bench,  and  Mocket,  in  the  act  of  vot 
ing,  both  heard,  and  both  looked  his  way.  Ludwell  Cary 


48  LEWIS   RAND 

knit  his  brows,  and  meeting  his  brother's  eyes,  slightly  shook 
his  head.  Look  and  gesture  said,  "Leave  abuse  alone, 
Fair." 

Mocket  voted  for  Rand.  "I  challenge  that  vote!"  cried 
Major  Edward  Churchill.  "The  man's  been  in  prison." 

Amid  the  noise  that  followed,  the  Jackal  was  heard  to 
cry,  "It's  a  lie !  Lewis,  tell  them  it's  a  lie !  Major  Churchill, 
you  'd  better  be  careful !  I  was  acquitted,  and  you  know  it." 

"Do  I  ?"  answered  the  Major  coolly.  "I  know  that  you 
ought  to  be  making  shoes  in  the  penitentiary!  Mr.  Sheriff, 
you  should  really  have  this  courtroom  sprinkled  with  vin 
egar.  There's  gaol  fever  in  the  air." 

"I  don't  see,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  came  Rand's  voice  from  the 
Justice's  Bench,  "that  any  more  vinegar  is  needed.  Gentle 
men,  all  —  whether  Federalist  or  Republican  —  I  was  Mr. 
Mocket's  lawyer  in  the  case  referred  to.  Twelve  good  men 
and  true  —  men  of  this  county  —  pronounced  him  inno 
cent.  It  is  not  surprising  that  my  friends  the  Federalists 
should  wish  to  gain  time,  —  they  are  leagued  with  old  Time, 
—  but  I  protest  against  their  gaining  it  by  such  means.  This 
is  not  a  matter  of  parties;  it  is  a  matter  of  a  man  being 
held  innocent  till  he  is  proved  guilty.  A  hundred  men  here 
can  testify  as  to  the  verdict  in  this  case.  Mr.  Mocket,  gen 
tlemen — "  He  paused  and  regarded  the  sandy-haired  and 
freckled  Tom,  the  brother  of  little  Vinie,  the  sometime  door- 
boy  in  Chancellor  Wythe'slaw  office,  with  a  smile  so  broadly 
humorous,  humane,  and  tolerant,  that  suddenly  the  court 
room  smiled  with  him.  "Tom  Mocket,  gentlemen,  is  a 
scamp,  but  he's  not  a  scoundrel!  The  election  proceeds, 
Mr.  Sheriff." 

"I  vote  for  Lewis  Rand!"  shouted  the  scamp  out  of  the 
uproar.  "Richmond  now,  then  Washington!  We'll  send 
Lewis  Rand  as  high  as  he  can  go!" 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  49 

"As  high  as  the  gallows!"  growled  Major  Edward 
Churchill. 

"Send  him,"  said  a  voice  in  the  doorway,  "out  West.  Mr. 
Jefferson  gained  Louisiana,  but  't  will  take  a  stronger  man 
to  gain  Mexico.  Mexico  wants  a  Buonaparte." 

The  day  wore  on  with  no  lessening  of  heat  and  clamour. 
The  Court  House  becoming  too  full,  men  betook  themselves 
to  the  yard  or  to  the  street,  where,  mounted  on  chairs  or  on 
wagons  from  which  the  horses  had  been  taken,  they  harangued 
their  fellows.  Public  speaking  came  easily  to  this  race.  To 
day  good  liquor  and  emulation  pricked  them  on,  and  the 
spring  in  the  blood.  Under  the  locusts  to  the  right  of  the 
gate  Federalists  apostrophized  Washington,  lauded  Hamil 
ton,  the  Judiciary,  and  the  beauty  of  the  English  Constitu 
tion,  denounced  the  French,  denounced  the  Louisiana  Pur 
chase,  denounced  the  Man  of  the  People,  and  his  every  tool 
and  parasite,  and  lifted  to  the  skies  the  name  of  Ludwell 
Cary.  To  the  left  of  the  gate,  under  the  locusts,  the  Repub 
licans  praised  the  President  of  the  United  States  and  all  his 
doings,  and  poured  oblation  to  Lewis  Rand.  From  side  to 
side  of  the  path  there  were  alarms  and  incursions.  Before 
noon  there  had  occurred  a  number  of  hand-to-hand  fights, 
one,  at  least,  accompanied  by  "gouging,"  and  a  couple  of 
duels  had  been  arranged. 

In  the  courtroom  the  parties  jostled  each  other  at  the 
polls,  and  the  candidates,  side  by  side  upon  the  Justice's 
Bench,  watched  the  day  go  'now  this  way  and  now  that. 
Their  partisans  they  must  acceptably  thank,  and  they  must 
be  quick  of  wit  with  their  adversaries.  Fatigue  did  not  count, 
nor  hoarseness  from  much  speaking,  nor  an  undercurrent 
of  consciousness  that  there  were,  after  all,  more  parties  than 
two,  more  principles  than  those  they  advocated,  more  colours 
than  black  and  white,  more  epithets  than  hero  and  villain. 


50  LEWIS   RAND 

They  must  act  in  their  moment,  and  accept  its  excitement. 
A  colour  burned  in  their  cheeks,  and  the  hair  lay  damp  upon 
their  foreheads.  They  must  listen  and  answer  to  men  saying 
loudly  to  their  faces  and  before  other  men,  "I  hold  with 
you,  and  your  mind  is  brother  to  my  mind";  or  saying,  "I 
hold  not  with  you,  and  you  and  your  mind  are  abominable 
to  me !  To  outer  darkness  with  you  both  ! " 

Sometimes  they  consulted  with  their  committee-men,  and 
sometimes  punch  was  brought,  and  they  drank  with  their 
friends.  Occasionally  they  spoke  to  each  other;  when  they 
did  this,  it  was  with  extreme  courtesy.  Gary  used  the  but 
toned  foil  with  polished  ease.  Rand's  manner  was  less  as 
sured  ;  there  was  something  antique  and  laboured  in  his  deter 
mined  grasp  at  the  amenities  of  the  occasion.  It  was  the  only 
heaviness.  To  the  other  contest  between  them  he  brought  an 
amazing  sureness,  a  suppleness,  power,  and  audacity  beyond 
praise.  He  directed  his  battle,  and  at  his  elbow  Tom  Mocket, 
sandy-haired  and  ferret-eyed,  did  him  yeoman  service. 

At  one  o'clock  there  was  an  adjournment  for  dinner.  The 
principal  Federalists  betook  themselves  to  the  Swan;  the  prin 
cipal  Republicans  to  the  Eagle.  The  commonalty  ate  from 
the  packed  baskets  upon  the  trampled  grass  of  the  Court 
House  yard.  An  hour  later,  when  the  polls  were  reopened, 
men  returned  to  them  flushed  with  drink  and  in  the  temper 
for  a  quarrel,  the  Republicans  boisterous  over  a  foreseen 
victory,  the  Federalists  peppery  from  defeat.  In  the  yard 
the  constable  had  to  part  belligerents,  in  the  courtroom  the 
excitement  mounted.  The  tide  was  set  now  for  Lewis  Rand. 
The  Federalists  watched  it  with  angry  eyes ;  the  Republicans 
greeted  with  jubilation  each  new  wave.  The  defeated  found 
some  relief  in  gibes.  "Holoa!  here's  Citizen  Bonhomme  — 
red  breeches,  cockade,  and  Brutus  crop ! 
"Ah,  $a  ira,  93  ira,  £aira!" 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  51 

"That  man  ran  away  from  Tarleton! — yes,  you  did, 
the  very  day  that  Mr.  Jefferson  —  a-hem !  —  absented  him 
self  from  Monticello ! " 

"Challenge  that  man  —  he  deserted  in  the  Indian  War! 

"November  the  fourth,  in  the  year  ninety-one, 
We  had  a  sore  engagement  near  to  Fort  Jefferson!" 

"Here's  a  traveller  who  has  seen  the  mammoth  and 
climbed  the  Salt  Mountain!" 

"Here's  a  tobacco-roller!  Hey,  my  man,  don't  you  miss 
old  friends  on  the  road  ?" 

Under  cover  of  the  high  words,  laughter,  and  vituperation 
which  made  a  babel  of  the  courtroom,  Cary  spoke  to  his 
opponent.  "Mr.  Rand,  do  you  remember  that  frosty  morn 
ing,  long  ago,  when  you  and  I  first  met  ?  I  came  upon  you 
in  the  woods,  and  together  we  gathered  chinquapins.  Does 
it  seem  long  to  you  since  you  were  a  boy  ? " 

"Long  enough!"  answered  Rand.  "I  remember  that  day 
very  well." 

"We  told  each  other  our  names,  I  remember,  and  what 
each  meant  to  do  in  the  world.  We  hardly  foresaw  this  day." 
.  "It  is  not  easy  to  foresee,"  said  Rand  slowly.  "If  we 
could,  we  might — " 

"We  might  foresee  our  last  meeting,"  smiled  Cary,  "as 
we  remember  our  first."  He  took  a  glass  of  wine  from  a 
passing  servant  and  put  it  to  his  lips,  "To  another  meeting, 
in  the  wood!"  he  said,  "since  I  may  not  quite  drink  to  your 
victory." 

"Ah,  my  victory!"  answered  Rand.  "When  I  have  it, 
I  don't  know  that  I  shall  care  for  it!  That's  a  handsome 
youth,  your  brother  —  and  he  has  worked  for  you  like  a 
Trojan!  I'll  drink  to  your  brother!" 

"Here  are  the  Green  Spring  folk!"  cried  a  voice.  "They 
always  vote  like  gentlemen!" 


52  LEWIS   RAND 

The  Green  Spring  folk  were  a  squadron,  and  they  voted 
Gary  again  within  sight  of  the  goal.  A  man  who  had  been 
standing  just  without  the  open  door  rested  his  long  musket 
against  the  wall  and  advanced  to  the  polls.  "Last  time  I 
voted  here,"  he  said,  "  't  was  for  Mr.  Jefferson.  I  reckon 
I'll  have  to  vote  to-day  for  Lewis  Rand." 

A  tumult  arose.  "Adam  Gaudylock  belongs  upon  the 
Mississippi!  —  He  isn't  an  Albemarle  man!  —  He's  a 
Kentuck  —  He's  a  Louisianian  —  He's  a  subject  of  Jeffer 
son's  new  kingdom !  —  Challenged !  —  He  can't  vote  in  Al 
bemarle!" 

The  hunter  waited  for  the  uproar  to  cease.  "You  Federal 
ists  are  mighty  poor  shots !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last.  "You  make 
no  account  of  the  wind.  I  am  subject  of  no  man's  kingdom. 
I  trade  in  New  Orleans,  and  I  travel  on  the  great  rivers,  and 
I've  friends  in  Kentucky,  and  I  hunt  where  the  hunting's 
good,  but  when  I  want  to  vote  I  come  back  to  my  own  county 
where  I  was  born,  and  where  I  grew  up  among  you  all,  and 
where  I  've  yet  a  pretty  piece  of  land  between  here  and  the 
mountains.  I  voted  here  before,  and  I'll  vote  here  again. 
The  Gaudylocks  may  wander  and  wander,  but  their  home 
is  on  the  Three-Notched  Road,  and  they  vote  in  Albemarle." 

The  vote  standing,  and  Adam  being  followed  by  a  string 
of  hunters,  traders,  and  boatmen,  the  Republican  candidate 
was  again  and  finally  in  advance.  The  winds  blew  for  him 
from  the  four  quarters.  In  the  last  golden  light  of  the  after 
noon  there  was  a  strong  and  sudden  muster  of  Republicans. 
From  all  directions  stragglers  appeared,  voice  after  voice 
proclaiming  for  the  man  who,  regarded  at  first  as  merely  a 
protege  of  Jefferson,  had  come  in  the  last  two  years  to  be 
regarded  for  himself.  The  power  in  him  had  ceased  to  be 
latent,  and  friend  and  foe  were  beginning  to  watch  Lewis 
Rand  and  his  doings  with  intentness. 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  53 

As  the  sun  set  behind  the  Ragged  Mountains,  the  polls 
closed,  and  the  sheriff  proclaimed  the  election  of  the  Repub 
lican  candidate. 

The  Court  House  was  quickly  emptied,  nor  was  the  Court 
House  yard  far  behind.  The  excitement  had  spent  itself. 
The  result,  after  all,  had  been  foreknown.  It  drew  on  chilly 
with  the  April  dusk,  and  men  were  eager  to  be  at  home, 
seated  at  their  supper-tables,  going  over  the  day  with  cap 
tured  friends  and  telling  the  women  the  news.  On  wheels, 
on  horseback  or  afoot,  drunk  and  sober,  north,  south,  east,  and 
west,  they  cantered,  rolled,  and  trudged  away  from  the  brick 
Court  House  and  the  trampled  grass,  and  the  empty  bowls 
beneath  the  locust  trees. 

The  defeated  candidate  and  the  successful  shook  hands: 
Gary  quiet  and  smiling,  half  dignified  and  half  nonchalant; 
Rand  with  less  control  and  certainty  of  himself.  The  one 
said  with  perfection  the  proper  things,  the  other  said  them 
to  the  best  of  his  ability.  Young  Fairfax  Cary,  standing  by, 
twisting  his  riding-whip  with  angry  fingers,  curled  his  lip 
at  the  self-made  man's  awkwardness  of  phrase.  Rand  saw 
the  smile,  but  went  on  with  his  speech.  Colonel  Churchill, 
who  had  been  talking  with  Adam  Gaudylock,  left  the  hunter 
and  came  up  to  Cary.  "Ludwell,  you  and  Fair  are  not  going 
to  Greenwood  to-night!  I  have  orders  from  the  ladies  to 
bring  you  back  to  Fontenoy  —  alive  or  dead ! " 

"  I  find  myself  very  much  alive,  Colonel ! "  answered  Cary. 
"Thank  you,  I'll  gladly  spend  the  night  at  Fontenoy.  Fon 
tenoy  would  draw  me,  I  think,  if  I  were  dead ! " 

"  Dick  has  a  middling  Madeira,"  remarked  Major  Edward. 
"And  after  supper  Jacqueline  shall  sing  to  us.  Good- 
evening,  Mr.  Rand!" 

"Good-evening  to  you,  Major  Churchill,"  said  Rand. 
"Good-evening,  Mr.  Cary.  Good-evening,  gentlemen!" 


54  LEWIS   RAND 

"Here  are  Eli  and  Mingo  with  the  horses,"  said  Fairfax 
Gary,  his  back  to  the  Republican.  "Let's  away,  Ludwell!" 

Colonel  Churchill  laughed.  "Fontenoy  draws  you  too, 
Fairfax  ?  Well,  my  niece  Unity  is  a  pleasing  minx  —  yes,  by 
gad!  Miss  Dandridge  is  a  handsome  jade!  Come  away, 
come  away,  gentlemen ! " 

Federalists  and  Republicans  exchanged  the  stiffest  of  bows, 
and  the  party  for  Fontenoy  mounted  and  took  the  road.  The 
Republicans  whom  they  left  behind  had  a  few  moments  of 
laughter  and  jubilation,  and  then  they  also  quitted  the  Court 
House  yard  and  called  to  the  servants  for  the  horses. 

"You'll  spend  the  night  at  Edgehill,  I  hope,  Mr.  Rand  ?" 
cried  one.  "Mrs.  Randolph  expects  you  —  she  will  wish 
to  write  to  her  father  of  your  day  — " 

"No,  no,  come  with  me!"  put  in  another.  "There's  all 
this  business  to  talk  over  —  and  I  've  a  letter  to  show  you 
from  Mr.  Madison  — " 

"Best  come  to  the  Eagle!"  cried  a  third.  "No  end  of 
jolly  fellows,  and  bumpers  to  next  year — " 

Rand  shook  his  head.  "Thank  you,  Colonel  Randolph  — 
but  I  am  riding  to  Monticello.  Mr.  Jefferson  has  written 
for  some  papers  from  the  library.  Burwell  will  care  for  me 
to-night.  Present,  if  you  will,  my  humble  services  to  Mrs. 
Randolph  and  the  young  ladies.  By  the  same  token  I  can 
not  go  with  you,  Mr.  Carr,  nor  to  the  Eagle,  Mr.  Jones.  — 
My  grateful  thanks  to  you,  one  and  all,  gentlemen !  I  am  a 
plain  man  —  I  can  say  no  more.  We  will  ride  together  as 
far  as  the  creek." 

The  negro  Joab  brought  his  horse,  a  magnificent  animal, 
the  gift  of  Jefferson.  He  mounted  and  the  party  kept  to 
gether  as  far  as  the  creek,  where  their  ways  parted.  Rand 
checked  his  horse,  said  good-bye,  and  watched  the  gentle 
men  who  had  given  him  their  support  ride  cheerfully  away 


THE   TWO   CANDIDATES  55 

toward  the  light  of  home.  He  himself  was  waiting  for  Adam 
Gaudylock,  who  was  going  with  him  to  Monticello.  After 
a  moment's  thought  he  decided  not  to  wait  there  beside 
the  creek,  but  to  turn  his  horse  and  leave  a  message  for 
Tom  Mocket  at  a  house  which  he  had  passed  five  minutes 
before. 


CHAPTER  V 

MONTICELLO 

THE  house,  a  low  frame  one,  stood  back  from  the 
road,  in  a  tangle  of  old,  old  flowering  shrubs.   Rand 
drew   rein   before   the   broken    gate,  and    a  young 
woman  in  a  linsey  gown  rose  from  the  porch  step  and  came 
down  the  narrow  path  toward  him.    She  carried  an  earthen 
ware  pitcher  and  cup.    "It's  water  just  from  the  well,"  she 
said,  "fresh  and  cool.    Won't  you  have  some?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"    answered    Rand.    "Vinie,  why  don't  you 
mend  that  gate?" 

"I  don't  know,  thir,"  said  Vinie.    "Tom's  always  going 


to." 


Rand  laughed.  "Don't  call  me 'thir'!   Vinie, I 'm  elected." 

Vinie  set  down  her  pitcher  beside  a  clump  of  white  phlox 
and  wiped  her  hands  on  the  skirt  of  her  linsey  dress.  "Are 
you  going  away  to  Richmond  ?"  she  asked. 

"Not  until  October.  When  I  do  I'll  go  see  the  little  old 
house  you  used  to  live  in,  Vinie!" 

"It's  torn  down,"  remarked  Vinie  soberly.  "Here's  Tom 
now,  and  —  and  - 

"Adam  Gaudylock.    Don't  you  remember  Adam?" 

The  hunter  and  Tom  Mocket  came  up  together.  "We  beat 
them!  we  beat  them,  hey,  Lewis!"  grinned  the  scamp;  and 
Gaudylock  cried,  "Why,  if  here  isn't  the  little  partridge 
again !  Don't  you  want  to  see  what  I  've  got  in  my  pouch  ?" 

"Yeth,  thir,"  said  Vinie. 

Rand  and  his  lieutenant  talked  together  in  a  low  voice, 
Mocket  leaning  against  black  Selim's  neck,  Rand  stooping 


MONTICELLO  57 

a  little,  and  with  earnestness  laying  down  the  law  of  the  case. 
They  talked  for  ten  minutes,  and  then  Rand  gathered  up 
the  reins,  asked  for  another  cup  of  water,  and  with  a  friendly 
"Good-bye,  Vinie!"  rode  off  toward  Monticello,  Adam 
Gaudylock  going  with  him. 

Brother  and  sister  watched  the  riders  down  the  road  until 
the  gathering  dark  and  the  shadow  of  the  trees  by  the  creek 
hid  them  from  sight.  "  Just  wait  long  enough  and  we  '11  see 
what  we  see,"  quoth  Tom.  "Lewis  Rand's  going  to  be  a 
great  man!" 

"How  great?"  asked  Vinie.  "Not  as  great  as  Mr.  Jeffer 
son?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  scamp  answered  sturdily.  "He 
might  be.  One  thing's  certain,  anyhow;  he's  not  built  like 
Mr.  Madison  or  Mr.  Monroe.  He'll  not  be  content  to  tra 
vel  the  President's  road  always.  He'll  have  a  road  all  his 
own."  The  scamp's  imagination,  not  usually  lively,  be 
stirred  itself  under  the  influence  of  the  day,  of  wine,  and  the 
still  audible  sound  of  horses'  hoofs.  "  By  George,  Vinie !  it 
will  be  a  Roman  road,  hard,  paved,  and  fit  for  triumphs! 
He  thinks  it  won't,  but  he's  mistaken.  He  does  n't  see  him 
self!" 

Vinie  took  the  pitcher  from  beneath  the  white  phlox. 
"It's  getting  dark.  Tom,  aren't  we  ever  going  to  have 
that  gate  mended  ?  —  He 's  going  away  to  Richmond  in 
October." 

The  successful  candidate  and  Adam  Gaudylock,  followed 
by  Joab  on  a  great  bay  horse,  crossed  Moore's  Creek,  and 
took  the  Monticello  road.  A  red  light  yet  burned  in  the  west, 
but  the  trees  were  dark  along  the  way,  and  the  hollows  filled 
with  shadow.  The  dew  was  falling,  the  evening  dank  and 
charged  with  perfume. 

"Tasked  you  to  come  with  me,"  said  Rand,  "because  I 


58  LEWIS   RAND 

wanted  to  talk  to  some  one  out  of  the  old  life.  Mocket's  out 
of  the  old  life  too,  he  and  Vinie.  But — "  he  laughed. 
"They're  afraid  of  me.  Vinie  calls  me  'thir.'" 

"Well,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,"  Adam  said  placidly.  "No 
one  at  home  at  Monticello  ? " 

"No,  but  Burwell  keeps  a  room  in  readiness.  I  am  often 
there  on  errands  for  Mr.  Jefferson.  Well,  how  go  matters 
west  of  the  mountains  ?" 

"Christmas  I  spent  at  Louisville,"  answered  Gaudylock, 
"and  then  went  down  the  river  to  New  Orleans.  The  city's 
like  a  hive  before  swarming.  There  are  more  boats  at  its 
wharves  than  buds  on  yonder  Judas  tree.  And  back  from 
the  river  the  cotton's  blooming  now." 

"Ah!"  said  Rand,  "I  should  like  to  see  that  land!  When 
you  have  done  a  thing,  Adam,  a  thing  that  you  have  striven 
with  all  your  might  to  do,  does  it  at  once  seem  to  you  a  small 
thing  to  have  done  ?  It  does  to  me  —  tasteless,  soulless,  and 
poor,  not  worth  a  man's  while.  Where  lies  the  land  of  satis 
faction?" 

"No,"  answered  Adam,  "I  don't  look  at  things  that  way. 
But  then  I  'm  not  ambitious.  Last  year,  in  New  Orleans,  I 
watched  a  man  gaming.  He  won  a  handful  of  French  crowns. 
'Ha!'  says  he,  'they  glittered,  but  they  do  not  glitter  now! 
Again!'  —  and  this  time  he  won  doubloons.  'We'll  double 
these,'  says  he,  and  so  they  did,  and  he  won.  'This  is  a  small 
matter,'  he  said.  'We'll  play  for  double-eagles,'  and  so  they 
did,  and  he  won.  '  Have  n't  you  a  tract  of  sugar-canes  ? '  says 
he.  'Money's  naught.  Let  us  play  for  land!'  and  he  won 
the  sugar-canes.  'That  girl,  that  red-lipped  Jeanne  of  thine, 
that  black  eye  in  the  Street  of  Flowers  —  I'll  play  for  her! 
Deal  the  cards ! '  But  he  never  won  the  girl,  and  he  lost  the 
sugar-canes  and  the  gold." 

"A  man  walks  forward,  or  he  walks  backward.    There's 


MONTICELLO  59 

no  standing  still  in  this  world  or  the  next.    Where  were  you 
after  New  Orleans,  before  you  turned  homeward  ? " 

"At  Mr.  Blennerhassett's  island  in  the  Ohio.  And  that's 
a  pleasant  place  and  a  pleasant  gentleman  — " 

"Listen!" 

"Aye,"  answered  the  other;  "I  heard  it  some  moments 
back.  Some  one  is  fiddling  beyond  that  tulip  tree." 

They  were  now  ascending  the  mountain,  moving  between 
great  trees,  fanned  by  a  cooler  wind  than  had  blown  in  the 
valley.  The  road  turned,  showing  them  a  bit  of  roadside 
grass,  a  giant  tulip  tree,  and  a  vision  of  a  moon  just  rising 
in  the  east.  Upon  a  log,  beneath  the  tree,  appeared  the  dim 
brocade  and  the  curled  wig  of  M.  Achille  Pincornet,  resting 
in  the  twilight  and  solacing  his  soul  with  the  air  of  "  Madelon 
Friquet."  Around  him  sparkled  the  fireflies,  and  above  were 
the  thousand  gold  cups  of  the  tulip  tree.  His  bow  achieved 
a  long  tremolo ;  he  lowered  the  violin  from  his  chin,  stood  up, 
and  greeted  the  travellers. 

"That  was  a  pretty  air,  Mr.  Pincornet,"  said  Rand.  "Why 
are  you  on  the  Monticello  road  ?  Your  next  dancing  class  is 
at  Fontenoy." 

"And  how  did  you  know  that,  sir  ? "  demanded  the  French 
man  in  his  high,  thin  voice.  As  he  spoke,  he  restored  his 
fiddle  to  its  case  with  great  care,  then  as  carefully  brushed 
all  leaf  and  mould  from  his  faded  silken  clothes. 

"I  know  —  I  know,"  replied  Rand.  He  regarded  the  figure 
in  dusty  finery  with  a  certain  envy  of  any  one  who  was 
going  to  Fontenoy,  even  as  dancing  master,  even  as  a  man 
no  longer  young.  Mr.  Pincornet  looked,  in  the  twilight,  very 
pinched,  very  grey,  very  hungry.  "Come  on  with  me  to 
Monticello,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Burwell  will  give  us 
supper,  and  find  us  a  couple  of  bottles  to  boot." 

"Sir,"    answered    the    Frenchman    stiffly,    but  with    an 


60  LEWIS   RAND 

inner  vision  of  Monticello   cheer,  "I  would  not  vote  for 
you—" 

Rand  laughed.  "I  bear  no  malice,  Mr.  Pincornet.  Opin 
ion's  but  opinion.  I'll  cut  no  traveller's  throat  because  he 
likes  another  road  than  mine!  Come,  come!  Fish  from  the 
river,  cakes  and  coffee,  Mr.  Pincornet  —  and  afterwards  wine 
on  the  terrace!" 

The  road  climbed  on.  Between  the  stems  of  the  tall  trees, 
feathered  with  the  green  of  mid-spring,  the  dogwood  dis 
played  its  stars,  and  the  fringe  tree  rose  like  a  fountain. 
Everywhere  was  the  sound  of  wind  in  the  leaves.  When  the 
riders  and  the  dancing  master,  who  was  afoot,  reached  the 
crest  of  the  little  mountain,  shaven  and  planed  by  the  hand 
of  man  into  a  fair  plateau,  the  moon  was  shining  brightly. 
In  the  silver  light,  across  the  dim  lawns,  classically  simple, 
grave,  and  fair,  rose  the  house  that  Jefferson  had  built.  The 
gate  clanged  behind  the  party  from  Charlottesville,  a  dog 
barked,  a  light  flared,  voices  of  negroes  were  heard,  and 
hurrying  feet  from  the  house  quarter.  Upon  the  lawn  to  the 
right  and  left  of  the  mansion  were  two  toy  houses,  tiny  brick 
offices  used  by  Jefferson  for  various  matters.  The  door  of 
one  of  these  now  opened,  and  Mr.  Bacon,  the  overseer, 
hastening  across  the  wet  grass,  greeted  Rand  and  Gaudylock 
as  they  dismounted  before  the  white  portico. 

"Evening,  evening,  Mr.  Rand!  I  knew  you'd  be  coming 
up,  so  I  hurried  on  afore  ye.  Caesar  and  Joab,  you  take  the 
horses  round!  Glad  to  see  you,  Adam;  you  too,  Mr.  Pincor 
net!  Well,  Mr.  Rand,  you  spoiled  the  Egyptians  this  day! 
I  never  saw  a  finer  election !  Me  and  Mr.  Fagg  were  talking 
of  you.  'His  father  was  a  fighter  before  him,'  says  Mr.  Fagg, 
says  he,  'and  he's  a  fighter,  too,  damn  him!'  says  he,  'and, 
we'll  send  him  higher  yet.  Damn  the  Federalists!'  says  he. 
'He's  a  taller  man  than  Ludwell  Cary!" 


MONTICELLO  61 

"I'm  a  mighty  hungry  man,  Mr.  Bacon,"  said  Rand. 
"And  so  is  Adam,  and  so  is  Mr.  Pincornet!  You'll  take  sup 
per  with  us,  I  hope  ?  We  '11  make  Adam  Gaudylock  tell  us 
stories  of  Louisiana." 

" Thank 'ee,  Mr.  Rand,  I  will.  Your  room's  all  ready, 
sir,  and  Burwell  shall  bring  you  a  julep.  I  reckon  you're 
pretty  tired.  Lord !  I  'd  rather  clear  a  mountain  side  and 
then  plough  it,  than  to  have  to  sit  there  all  day  on  that  there 
Justice's  Bench  and  listen  to  them  Federalists!  They're  a 
lot!  And  that  Fairfax  Gary  —  he's  a  chip  of  the  old  block, 
he  surely  is!  He'd  have  gone  through  fire  to-day  to  see  his 
brother  win.  This  way,  gentlemen!  Sally '11  have  supper 
ready  in  a  jiffy.  I  smell  the  coffee  now.  Well,  well,  Mr. 
Rand !  to  think  of  the  way  you  used  to  trudge  up  here  all 
weathers,  snow  or  storm  or  hot  sun,  just  for  a  book  —  and 
now  you  come  riding  in  on  Selim,  elected  to  Richmond,  over 
the  heads  of  the  Carys !  Life 's  queer,  ain't  it  ?  We  '11  hear 
of  you  at  Fontenoy  next ! " 

Rand  smiled.  "Life's  not  so  queer  as  that,  Mr.  Bacon. 
I  wish  you  might — "  he  broke  off. 

"Might  what?"  asked  Bacon. 

"Hear  of  me  at  Fontenoy,"  answered  Rand,  and  entered 
the  wide  hall  as  one  who  was  at  home  there.  "I'll  go  bathe 
my  face  and  hands,"  he  said,  and  turned  into  the  passage 
that  led  to  the  bedrooms. 

A  tall  clock  struck  the  hour,  a  bell  rang  cheerfully,  and 
Burwell  flung  open  the  dining-room  door.  Rand,  entering  a 
moment  later,  found  the  overseer,  the  hunter,  and  the  dancing 
master  awaiting  him.  With  a  nod  and  a  "Ha,  Burwell!" 
for  the  old  servant,  he  took  his  place  at  the  table,  and  he  took 
it  like  a  prince,  throwing  his  tall,  vigorous  figure  into  the 
armchair  which  marked  the  head  of  the  board,  seating  him 
self  before  the  other  and  older  men.  In  the  wave  of  his  hand 


62  LEWIS   RAND 

toward  the  three  remaining  places  there  was  a  condescen 
sion  not  the  less  remarkable  that  it  was  entirely  unconscious. 
The  life  within  him  was  moving  with  great  rapidity.  It  was 
becoming  increasingly  natural  for  him  to  act,  simply,  without 
thought,  as  his  inner  man  bade.  What  yesterday  was  uneasi 
ness,  and  to-day  seemed  assurance,  was  apt  by  to-morrow 
to  attain  convincingness.  It  was  not  that  he  appeared  to  value 
himself  too  highly.  Instead,  he  made  no  attempt  at  valuation; 
he  went  his  way  like  wind  or  wave.  He  took  the  armchair 
at  the  head  of  the  Monticello  table  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child,  and  the  bearing  of  a  general  who  sups  with  his  officers 
after  a  victorious  field. 

The  unfolding  of  the  petal  was  not  missed  by  his  com 
panions.  Adam  Gaudylock,  with  a  glance,  half  shrewd  and 
half  affectionate,  for  the  man  whom  he  had  known  from 
boyhood,  sank  into  the  opposite  seat  with  a  light  and  happy 
laugh.  It  mattered  little  to  Adam  where  he  sat  in  life,  pro 
vided  that  it  was  before  a  window.  The  overseer,  a  worthy, 
plain  man,  had  a  thought  of  old  Gideon  Rand,  but,  remem 
bering  in  time  Mr.  Jefferson's  high  opinion  of  the  man  now 
occupying  his  chair,  sat  down  and  unfolded  his  damask  nap 
kin  with  great  care.  Mr.  Pincornet,  indeed,  raised  his  eye 
brows  and  made  a  backward  movement  from  the  table,  but 
at  that  moment  a  mulatto  boy  appeared  with  a  plate  of  waf 
fles.  The  light  from  the  wax  candles  burned,  too,  in  certain 
crimson  decanters.  "Sit  down,  sit  down,  Mr.  Pincornet!" 
said  Rand,  and  the  dancing  master  took  the  remaining  place. 

An  hour  later  Rand  pushed  back  his  heavy  chair  and  rose 
from  the  table,  ending  the  meal  with  as  little  ceremony  as  he 
had  used  in  beginning  it.  "I  shall  go  write  to  Mr.  Jefferson," 
he  announced,  as  the  four  passed  into  the  hall.  "You, 
Adam,  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"First  I'll  smoke  and  then  I'll  sleep,"  said  Adam.    The 


MONTICELLO  63 

moonlight  streamed  in  upon  them  through  the  open  hall 
door.  "I'll  smoke  outside.  That's  a  southern  moon. 

"Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  flower  o'  night! 

Madelon ! 

'Ware  the  voices,  'ware  the  light ! 
Madelon  ! 

Will  you  smoke  with  me,  Mr.  Bacon  ?  I  'd  like  to  try  the 
Monticello  leaf." 

"I  have  to  go  to  the  quarters  for  a  bit,"  answered  the 
overseer.  "There's  sickness  there.  I'll  join  you  later,  Mr. 
Gaudylock." 

He  went  whistling  away.  Adam  sat  down  upon  the  broad 
steps  whitened  by  the  moon,  filled  his  pipe,  struck  a  spark 
from  his  flint  and  steel,  and  was  presently  enveloped  in  fra 
grant  smoke.  The  dancing-master,  hesitating  somewhat  dis 
consolately  in  the  hall,  at  last  went  also  into  the  moonlight, 
where  he  walked  slowly  up  and  down  upon  the  terrace,  his 
thin,  beruffled  hands  clasped  behind  his  old  brocaded  coat. 
What  with  the  moonlight  and  the  ancient  riches  of  his  apparel, 
and  a  certain  lost  and  straying  air,  he  had  the  seeming  of  a 
phantom  from  some  faint,  bewigged,  perfumed,  and  painted 
past. 

Lewis  Rand  paused  for  a  moment  before  the  door,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  splendid  night,  then  turned  and  passed 
into  the  library,  where  he  called  for  candles,  and,  sitting  down 
at  a  desk,  began  to  write.  His  letter  was  to  the  President  of 
the  United  States,  and  it  was  written  freely  and  boldly. 
"T  was  thus  they  did  —  't  was  so  I  did.  We  won,  and  I  am 
glad;  they  lost,  and  that  also  is  to  my  liking.  As  the  party 
owes  its  victory  to  your  name  and  your  power,  so  I  owe  my 
personal  victory  to  your  ancient  and  continued  kindness. 
May  my  name  be  abhorred  if  ever  I  forget  it !  The  Federalists 
mustered  strongly.  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  is  extremely  'well 


64  LEWIS   RAND 

born/  and  that  younger  brother  of  his  is —  I  know  not  why, 
he  troubles  me.  There  is  a  breath  of  the  future  about  him, 
and  it  breathes  cold.  Well !  I  have  fought  and  I  have  won. 
'Let  the  blast  of  the  desert  come :  I  shall  be  renowned  in  my 
day!'  To-night,  you  see,  I  quote  Ossian.  The  moon  is 
flooding  the  terrace.  Were  you  here  in  your  loved  home,  we 
would  talk  together.  Adam  Gaudylock  is  with  me.  Lately 
he  was  in  Louisiana,  and  then  with  a  Mr.  Blennerhassett 
upon  the  Ohio.  General  Wilkinson  is  at  New  Orleans.  The 
Spaniards  are  leaving,  the  French  well  affected.  The  mighty 
tide  of  our  people  has  topped  the  mountains  and  is  descend 
ing  into  those  plains  of  the  Mississippi  made  ours  by  your 
prophetic  vision  and  your  seizure  of  occasion.  The  First 
Consul  is  a  madman!  He  has  sold  to  us  an  Empire!  Empire! 
Emperor  —  Emperor  of  the  West !  The  sound  is  stately. 
You  laugh.  We  are  citizens  of  a  republic.  Well !  I  am  con 
tent.  I  aspire  no  higher.  I  am  not  Buonaparte.  Your 
lilies  are  budding  beneath  the  windows;  the  sweet  williams 
are  all  in  bloom.  I  have  little  news  for  you  of  town  or  country 
—  Mrs.  Randolph,  doubtless,  sends  you  all.  Work  goes  on 
upon  the  church.  For  me,  I  worship  in  the  fields  with  the 
other  beasts  of  burden  or  of  prey.  The  wheat  looks  well, 
and  there  will  be  this  year  a  great  yield  of  apples.  Major 
Churchill's  Mustapha  won  at  Winchester.  Colonel  Churchill 
has  cleared  a  large  tract  of  woods  behind  Fontenoy  and 
will  use  it  for  tobacco.  I  rode  by  his  plant  bed  the  other  day, 
and  the  leaf  is  prime.  I  am  a  judge  of  tobacco.  They  are 
bitter,  the  Fontenoy  men.  Mr.  Ludwell  Cary  will,  I  suppose, 
remain  in  the  county.  He  is  altering  and  refurnishing  Green 
wood.  I  suppose  that  he  will  marry.  The  rains  have  been 
frequent  this  spring,  the  roads  heavy  and  the  rivers  turbid. 
The  stream  is  much  swollen  by  my  house  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road.  We  hear  that  the  feeling  grows  between 


MONTICELLO  65 

General  Hamilton  and  Aaron  Burr.  Should  the  occasion 
arise,  pray  commend  me  to  the  latter,  whose  acquaintance  I 
had  the  honour  to  make  last  year  when  I  visited  New  York. 
There,  if  you  please,  is  a  spirit  restless  and  audacious! 
The  mill  on  the  Rockfish  is  grinding  this  spring.  The 
murder  case  of  which  I  wrote  you  will  be  tried  next  court 
day.  One  Fitch  killed  one  Thomas  Dole  in  North  Garden; 
knocked  at  his  door  one  night,  called  him  out,  and  shot  him 
down.  Dole  had  thwarted  Fitch  in  some  project  or  other. 
I  am  retained  by  the  State,  and  I  mean  to  hang  Fitch. 
Adam  Gaudylock  says  there  is  a  region  of  the  Mississippi 
where  the  cotton  grows  taller  than  a  man's  head.  We  may 
find  our  gold  of  Ophir  in  that  plant.  To-night  I  am  a  vic 
tor.  I  salute  you,  so  much  oftener  than  I  a  victor!  But  vic 
tory  is  a  mirage :  this  that  I  thought  so  fair  is  but  a  piece  of 
the  desert;  the  magnum  bonum  shines,  looms,  and  beckons 
still  ahead !  Had  I  been  defeated,  I  believe  I  should  have 
been  in  better  spirits.  Now  to  the  papers  which  you  de 
sired  me  to  read  and  comment  upon :  I  find  - 

The  quill  travelled  on,  conveying  to  sheet  after  sheet  the 
opinion  upon  certain  vexed  questions  of  a  very  able  lawyer. 
The  analysis  was  keen,  the  reasoning  just,  the  judgment 
final,  the  advice  sound.  The  years  since  that  determinative 
hour  in  the  Richmond  book-shop  had  been  well  harvested. 
The  paper  when  he  had  finished  it  would  have  pleased 
the  ideal  jurist. 

He  wrote  until  the  clock  struck  ten;  then  folded,  sealed, 
and  superscribed  his  letter,  pushed  back  the  heavy  hair  from 
his  forehead,  and  rose  from  the  desk.  The  long  windows 
opened  upon  the  terrace,  and  through  them  came  the  moon 
beams  and  the  fragrance  of  the  April  night  —  music  too,  for 
Mr.  Pincornet  was  playing  the  violin.  The  young  man  ex 
tinguished  the  candles,  and  stepped  into  the  silvery  world 


66  LEWIS   RAND 

without  the  room.  Adam  Gaudylock  had  disappeared,  and 
the  overseer  was  gone  to  bed.  Lights  were  out  in  the  quarters ; 
the  house  was  as  still  and  white  as  a  mansion  in  a  fairy  tale. 
Mr.  Pincornet  was  no  skilled  musician,  but  the  air  he  played 
was  old  and  sweet,  and  it  served  the  hour.  Below  their 
mountain-top  lay  the  misty  valleys;  to  the  east  the  moon- 
flooded  plains;  to  the  west  the  far  line  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 
The  night  was  cloudless. 

Rand  stood  with  his  hands  upon  the  balustrade,  then 
walked  down  the  terrace  and  paused  before  the  dancing 
master.  "Before  he  hurt  his  hand  Mr.  Jefferson  played 
the  violin  beautifully/'  he  said.  "When  I  was  younger,  in 
the  days  when  I  tried  to  do  everything  that  he  did,  I  tried 
to  learn  it  too.  But  I  have  no  music  in  me." 

"It  is  a  solace,"  answered  Mr.  Pincornet.  "I  learned 
long  ago,  in  the  South." 

"I  like  the  harp,"  announced  Rand  abruptly. 

"It  is  a  becoming  instrument  to  a  woman,"  replied 
Mr.  Pincornet,  and  in  a  somewhat  ghostly  fashion  became 
vivacious.  "Ah,  a  rounded  arm,  a  white  hand,  the  rise  and 
fall  of  a  bosom  behind  the  gold  wires  —  and  the  notes  like 
water  dropping,  sweet,  sweet!  Ah,  I,  too,  like  the  harp!" 

"I  have  never  heard  it  but  twice,"  said  Rand,  and  turned 
again  to  the  balustrade.  Below  him  lay  the  vast  and  shadowy 
landscape.  Here  and  there  showed  a  light  —  a  pale  earth- 
star  shining  from  grey  hill  or  vale.  Rand  looked  toward 
Fontenoy,  and  he  looked  wistfully.  Behind  him  the  violin 
was  telling  of  the  springtime;  from  the  garden  came  the  smell 
of  the  syringas;  the  young  man's  desire  was  toward  a  woman. 
"Is  she  playing  her  harp  to-night?  Is  she  playing  to  Lud- 
well  Gary?" 

"Belle  saison  de  ma  jeunesse  — 
Beaux  jours  du  printemps!" 


MONTICELLO  67 

sang  the  violin.  A  shot  sounded  near  the  house.  Adam 
Gaudylock  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  locust  trees  and 
crossed  the  moonlit  lawn  below  the  terrace.  "I've  shot  that 
night-hawk.  He  '11  maraud  no  more,"  he  said,  and  passed  on 
toward  his  quarter  for  the  night. 

Rand  made  a  motion  as  if  to  follow,  then  checked  himself. 
It  was  late,  and  it  had  been  a  day  of  strife,  but  his  iron  frame 
felt  no  fatigue  and  his  mood  was  one  of  sombre  exaltation. 
What  was  the  use  of  going  to  bed,  of  wasting  the  moonlit 
hours  ?  He  turned  to  the  Frenchman.  "Play  me,"  he  com 
manded,  "a  conquering  air!  Play  me  the  Marseillaise!" 

Mr.  Pincornet  started  violently.  Down  came  the  fiddle 
from  his  chin,  the  bow  in  his  beruffled  hand  cut  the  air  with 
a  gesture  of  angry  repudiation.  When  he  was  excited  he 
forgot  his  English,  and  he  now  swore  volubly  in  French; 
then,  recovering  himself,  stepped  back  a  pace,  and  regarded 
with  high  dudgeon  his  host  of  the  night.  "Sir,"  he  cried, 
"before  I  became  a  dancing  master  I  was  a  French  gentle 
man  !  I  served  the  King.  I  will  teach  you  to  dance,  but  — 
Morbleu  !  —  I  will  not  play  you  the  Marseillaise!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Rand.  "I  forgot  that  you  could 
not  be  a  Republican.  Well,  play  me  a  fine  Royalist  air." 

"Are  you  so  indifferent  ?"  asked  the  dancing  master,  not 
without  a  faded  scorn.  "Royalist  or  Republican  —  either 
air?" 

"Indifferent?"  repeated  Rand.  "I  don't  know  that  I 
am  indifferent.  Open-minded,  perhaps,  —  though  I  don't 
know  that  that  is  calling  it  rightly.  The  airs  the  angels  sing, 
and  the  thundering  march  of  the  damned  through  hell  — 
why  should  I  not  listen  to  them  both  ?  I  don't  believe  in 
hell,  nor  much  in  angels,  save  one,  but  I  like  the  argument. 
Mr.  Pincornet,  I  don't  want  to  sleep.  Suppose  —  suppose 
you  teach  me  a  minuet  ?" 


68  LEWIS   RAND 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  he  spoke  in  earnest.  "Know 
ledge!  I  want  all  kinds  of  knowledge.  I  know  law,  and  I 
know  what  to  do  with  a  jury,  and  I  know  tobacco  —  worse 
luck !  —  but  I  don't  know  the  little  things,  the  little  gracious 
things  that  —  that  make  a  man  liked.  If  I  were  a  Feder 
alist,  and  if  I  did  n't  know  so  much  about  tobacco,  I  would 
go,  Mr.  Pincornet,  to  your  dancing  class  at  Fontenoy!" 
He  laughed  again.  "I  can't  do  that,  can  I  ?  The  Churchills 
would  all  draw  their  swords.  Come!  I  have  little  time  and 
few  chances  to  acquire  that  which  I  have  longed  for  always, 
—  the  grace  of  life.  Teach  me  how  to  enter  a  drawing-room; 
how  to  —  how  to  dance  with  a  lady!" 

His  tone,  imperious  when  he  demanded  the  Marseillaise, 
was  now  genial,  softened  to  a  mellow  persuasiveness.  Mr. 
Pincornet  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had  been  offended,  but 
he  was  not  unmagnanimous,  and  he  had  a  high  sense  of  the 
importance  of  his  art.  He  had  seen  in  France  what  came  of 
uncultivated  law-givers.  If  a  man  wanted  knowledge,'far  be  it 
from  Achille  de  Pincornet  to  withhold  his  handful !  "  You  can 
not  learn  in  a  night,"  he  said,  "but  I  will  show  you  the  steps." 

"I  can  manage  a  country  dance,  a  reel  or  Congo,"  said 
Rand  simply.  "I  want  to  know  politer  things." 

They  left  the  terrace,  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  lit 
the  candles.  The  floor,  rubbed  each  morning  until  it  shone, 
gave  back  the  heart-shaped  flames.  The  slight  furniture  they 
pushed  aside.  The  dancing  master  tucked  his  violin  under  his 
chin,  drew  the  bow  across  the  strings,  and  began  the  lesson. 

The  candles  burned  clear,  strains  of  the  minuet  de  la  cour 
rose  and  fell  in  the  ample  room,  the  member  from  Albemarle 
and  Mr.  Pincornet  stepped,  bent,  and  postured  with  the  grav 
ity  of  Indian  sachems.  The  one  moved  through  the  minuet 
in  top-boots  and  riding-coat,  the  other  taught  in  what  had 
been  a  red  brocade.  Rand,  though  tall  and  largely  built, 


MONTICELLO  69 

moved  with  the  step  and  carriage,  light  and  lithe,  of  one  who 
has  used  the  woods;  the  Frenchman  had  the  suppleness 
of  his  profession  and  of  an  ancient  courtier.  Now  they  bowed 
one  to  the  other,  now  each  to  an  imaginary  lady.  Mr.  Pin- 
cornet  issued  directions  in  the  tone  of  a  general  ordering  a 
charge,  his  pupil  obeyed  implicitly.  In  the  silent  house, 
raised  high  on  a  mountain-top  above  a  sleeping  world,  in 
the  lit  room  with  many  open  windows,  through  which  poured 
the  fragrance  of  spring,  they  practised  until  midnight  the 
minuet  de  la  cour.  The  hour  struck;  they  gravely  ceased  to 
dance,  and  after  five  minutes  spent  in  mutual  compliments, 
closed  the  long  windows  and  put  out  the  superfluous  lights, 
then  said  good-night,  and,  bedroom  candle  in  hand,  repaired 
each  to  his  own  chamber.  Rand  had  risen  at  dawn,  and  his 
day  had  been  a  battlefield,  but  before  he  lay  down  in  the 
dimity-hung,  four-post  bed  he  sat  long  at  the  window  of  his 
small,  white,  quiet  room.  The  moon  shone  brightly;  the  air 
was  soft  and  sweet.  In  the  distance  a  lamb  bleated,  then  all 
was  still  again.  The  young  man  rested  his  chin  on  his  hand, 
and  studied  the  highest  stars.  That  day  a  milestone  had 
been  passed.  He  saw  his  road  stretching  far,  far  before  him, 
and  he  saw  certain  fellow  travellers,  but  the  companion  whom 
his  heart  cried  for  he  could  not  see. 

"Her  way  and  mine  are  far  apart  —  are  far  apart.  I  had 
better  marry  Vinie  Mocket."  He  spoke  half  aloud  and  with 
bitterness,  looking  from  the  window  toward  Fontenoy.  Sud 
denly  the  water  smarted  in  his  eyes,  and  he  stretched  out  his 
arms.  "Oh,  pardon,  love!"  he  whispered,  "I  love  but  you 
—  and  I'll  love  you  to  the  end!"  His  fancy  dwelt  on 
Fontenoy.  It  was  for  him  enchanted  land,  the  sleeping 
palace,  strongly  hedged.  "But  I  am  not  the  appointed 
man,"  he  thought.  "I  am  a  pauper,  and  no  prince.  It  is 
Ludwell  Gary  that  goes  in  and  out." 


CHAPTER  VI 

RAND    COMES   TO   FONTENOY 

I  NEVER  dance  but  by  candlelight,"  remarked  Unity. 
"A  Congo  in  the  heat  of  the  afternoon,  a  jig  before 
sunset,  —  la !  I  had  rather  plough  by  moonlight.  As 
well  be  a  grasshopper  in  a  daisy  field !  Elegance  by  waxlight 
becomes  rusticity  in  the  sunshine,  —  and  of  all  things  I  would 
not  be  rustic !  Oh,  Mr.  Gary,  I  've  caught  my  gown  in  this 
rosebush !" 

Mr.  Fairfax  Cary  knelt  to  release  the  muslin  prisoner. 
"  Rusticity  becomes  you  so  that  if  I  were  a  king,  you  should 
dance  with  me  the  livelong  day.  But  I'll  not  grumble  if 
only  you'll  dance  with  me  as  soon  as  the  candles  are  lit! 
Last  night  you  were  all  for  that  booby,  Ned  Hunter! " 

"He's  no  booby,"  said  Miss  Dandridge.  "He  is  bashful 
—  though,  indeed,  I  think  he  is  only  bashful  in  company! 
We  sat  on  the  porch,  and  he  told  me  the  long  history  of  his 
life." 

"Confound  his  impudence — " 

"Oh,  it  was  interesting  as  — as  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho! 
You  are  a  long  time  over  that  briar,  Mr.  Cary.  There! 
thank  you  !  Listen  to  Mr.  Pincornet's  fiddle.  Scrape,  scrape, 
scrape!  The  children  are  dancing,  and  Jacqueline  is  help 
ing  them.  Jacqueline  is  always  helping  some  one.  But  Mr. 
Pincornet  thinks  it  is  because  she  is  in  love  with  him.  He 
is  sorry  for  her  because  he  rather  prefers  me.  I  am  in  love 
with  him  too.  So  is  Molly  Carter,  so  is  Anne  Page,  and  so 
will  be  little  Deb  as  soon  as  she  is  old  enough.  He  is  fifty, 
and  French,  and  a  dancing  master,  and  he  wears  an  old,  old. 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  71 

lace  cravat  and  a  powdered  wig!     When  are  we  going  back 
to  the  house,  Mr.  Gary?" 

"Let  us  walk  a  little  farther !"  pleaded  the  gentleman. 
"It  is  cool  and  pleasant,  with  no  fuss,  and  no  Ned  Hunter, 
with  the  history  of  his  life,  confound  him !  Other  men  have 
histories  as  well  as  he!  Your  gown  looks  so  pretty  against 
the  leaves.  Let  us  walk  down  to  the  lower  gate." 

Unity  pursed  her  red  lips,  and  considered  the  distance 
with  velvety  black  eyes.  "I  have  on  my  dancing  shoes, — 
but  perhaps  you  will  help  me  across  the  brook!" 

"I  will,*1  declared  Fairfax  Gary,  and,  when  the  brook 
was  reached,  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

"I  shall  tell  Uncle  Dick  to  put  safer  stepping-stones," 
quoth  Miss  Dandridge,  with  heightened  colour.  "How  thick 
the  mint  grows  here!  We  are  at  the  gate,  Mr.  Gary." 

"Let  us  walk  to  the  bend  of  the  road!  The  wild  honey 
suckle  is  in  bloom  there;  I  noticed  it  riding  to  Charlottes- 
ville  the  other  morning.  It  is  just  the  colour  of  your  gown." 

"Then  it  must  be  beautiful,"  said  Miss  Dandridge,  "for 
this  rose-coloured  muslin  came  from  London.  Ah,  you 
looked  so  angry  and  so  beaten  on  Wednesday,  when  you  came 
back  from  Charlottesville!" 

"I  was  not  angry,  and  I  was  not  beaten." 

"Fie!   You  mean  that  your  brother  was." 

"  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind ! "  cried  the  younger  Gary 
hotly.  "My  brother,  at  the  importunity  of  his  friends,  and 
for  the  good  of  the  county,  consented  to  stand  against  this 
pet  of  Jefferson's,  this  —  this  vaurien  Lewis  Rand.  Some 
one  had  to  stand.  He  knew  what  the  result  would  be.  'T  was 
but  a  skirmish  —  just  a  seat  in  a  tri-colour  Republican  House 
of  Delegates!  My  faith!  the  honour's  not  great.  But  wait 
awhile,  Miss  Dandridge!  The  real  battle's  not  yet.  Beaten! 
Rands,  Miss  Dandridge,  don't  beat  Carys!" 


72  LEWIS   RAND 

"La,  so  warm!"  exclaimed  Unity.  "I  have  never  seen 
a  man  love  a  brother  so!" 

"Ludwell  Gary  is  worthy  of  any  man's  love — or  any 
woman's  either!" 

"The  pair  of  you  ought  to  be  put  in  the  wax-works,  and 
labelled  'The  Loving  Brothers.'  When  you  marry,  there'll 
be  no  love  left  for  your  wife." 

"Just  you  try  and  see." 

"The  man  whom  I  marry,"  said  Miss  Dandridge,  "must 
have  no  thought  but  for  me.  He  must  swoon  if  I  frown,  laugh 
if  I  smile,  weep  if  I  sigh,  be  altogether  desperate  if  I  look 
another  way.  I  am  like  Falkland  in  The  Rivals.  Heigho! 
this  is  the  bend  of  the  road,  Mr.  Gary." 

"  I  am  altogether  desperate  when  you  look  another  way. 
When  you  looked  at  Ned  Hunter  last  night,  I  wanted  to  blow 
his  brains  out.  He  has  n't  any,  but  I  should  like  to  try." 

"  Then  you  would  have  been  hanged  for  murder,"  remarked 
Miss  Dandridge.  "Think  how  terrible  that  would  be  for  us 
all !  —  Did  you  know  that  Mr.  Hunter  once  dined  with 
General  Washington  ? " 

"You  are  a  royal  coquette.  See,  there  is  the  honeysuckle! 
If  I  gather  it  for  you,  will  you  wear  one  spray  to-night  ? " 

"It  is  a  very  stiff  flower,"  said  Unity  thoughtfully,  "and 
I  have  an  idea  that  Mr.  Hunter  will  bring  me  violets.  But  — 
I  will  see  if  I  can  find  a  place  for  one  small  spray." 

She  sat  down  upon  a  fallen  tree,  took  her  round  chin  into 
her  hand,  and  studied  the  point  of  her  morocco  shoe,  while 
her  cavalier,  not  without  detriment  to  his  pumps  and  silk 
stockings,  scrambled  up  the  red  bank  to  the  rosy  flowers. 

The  honeysuckles  did  not  grow  upon  the  main  road,  but 
upon  a  rough  and  narrow  cross-country  track,  little  used  ex 
cept  by  horsemen  pressed  for  time.  Now,  clear  through  the 
still  afternoon,  a  sound  of  hoofs  gave  warning  that  riders 


RAND  COMES   TO   FONTENOY  73 

were  coming  down  the  steep  and  dangerous  hill  beyond  the 
turn.  Unity  looked  up  with  interest,  and  Fairfax  Gary  paused 
with  his  hand  upon  a  coral  bough.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
change  in  the  beat,  then  a  frightened  shout,  and  a  sound  of 
rolling  stones  and  a  wild  clatter  of  hoofs.  Unity  sprang  to 
her  feet;  Gary  came  down  the  bank  at  a  run,  tossed  her  his 
armful  of  blossoms,  and  was  in  the  middle  of  the  road  in 
time  to  seize  by  the  bridle  the  riderless  horse  which  came 
plunging  around  the  bend. 

Fairfax  Gary  was  strong,  the  black  horse  not  quite  mad 
with  terror,  and  the  man  mastered  the  brute.  "Whose  is 
he?"  he  asked.  "If  you  will  hold  him  —  he  is  quite  quiet 
now —  I  will  go  see," 

A  negro  came  panting  around  the  turn.  "  Gawd-a-moughty, 
marster!  did  you  cotch  dat  horse?  You,  Selim,  I 's  gwine 
lam'  you,  I's  gwine  teach  you  er  lesson  —  dancin'  roun' 
on  yo'  two  foots  'cause  you  sees  er  scrap  of  paper!  R'arin* 
an'  pitchin'  an'  flingin'  white  folks  on  er  heap  of  stones !  I'll 
larnyou!  Yo' marster  was  a-dreamin',  or  you'd  never  th'owed 
him!  You  jes  wait  twel  I  git  you  home!  Marse  Fairfax 
Gary,  dis  debbil  done  th'owed  my  marster,  an'  he  lyin'  by 
de  roadside,  an'  I  don'  know  whether  he  live  or  daid!" 

"  I  know  you  now,"  exclaimed  the  younger  Gary.  "  You  're 
Mr.  Lewis  Rand's  servant.  Had  n't  you  better  stay  here, 
Miss  Dandridge,  until  I  see  what  really  is  the  matter  ? 
Here,  boy,  stop  chattering  your  teeth!  Your  master's  not 
killed.  Was  it  at  the  top  of  the  hill  ?" 

"  Halfway  down,  Marse  Fairfax,  whar  de  footpath  goes 
down  through  de  papaw  bushes.  Joab'll  show  you." 

"  I  'm  coming  too,"  said  Miss  Dandridge.  "  I  '11  lead  Selim." 

Without  more  ado  the  four  rounded  the  bend  of  the  road 
and  began  to  climb  the  hill.  Halfway  up,  as  Joab  had  stated, 
they  found  their  man.  He  lay  beside  the  papaw  bushes, 


74  LEWIS   RAND 

among  the  loose  stones,  and  he  lay  very  still.  One  arm  was 
doubled  under  him.  His  head  was.  thrown  back,  and  his 
brown  hair  was  matted  with  blood. 

"Oh!"  cried  Unity  pitifully,  and  went  down  upon  her 
knees  beside  the  unfortunate. 

Gary  examined  the  cut  in  the  head.  "Well,  he's  not 
dead,  but  he's  had  a  pretty  fall!  What's  to  be  done? 
Joab— " 

"Joab,"  commanded  Miss  Dandridge,  "ride  straight  to 
Fontenoy  and  tell  Colonel  Dick  to  send  Big  Jim  and  a 
couple  of  men  with  the  old  litter!  —  and  then  ride  to  Char- 
lottesville  and  bring  Dr.  Gilmer — " 

"Are  you  going  to  take  him  to  Fontenoy?"  asked  the 
younger  Gary. 

"Why  not  ?"  flashed  Miss  Dandridge.  "Would  you  leave 
him  to  bleed  to  death  by  the  roadside?  'My  enemy's 
dog — 'and  so  forth.  Hurry,  Joab!" 

The  negro  mounted  his  horse  that  had  been  grazing  by 
the  papaw  bushes,  and  was  off  at  a  gallop,  leaving  Unity  and 
Gary  with  the  luckless  rider.  Gary  brought  water  from  the 
brook  that  brawled  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  hillside,  and  Unity 
wet  the  brow  and  lips  of  the  unconscious  man,  but  he  had 
given  no  sign  of  life  when  the  relief  party  arrived  from  Fon 
tenoy.  This  consisted  of  four  stout  negroes  bearing  the  litter, 
and  of  Colonel  Dick  Churchill  and  Mr.  Ned  Hunter. 

"Tut,  tut!"  cried  Colonel  Dick.  "What's  this?  what's 
this  ?  Damn  this  place !  My  mare  Nelly  threw  me  here 
thirty  years  ago !  —  I  was  coming  home  from  a  wedding. 
Senseless  and  cut  across  the  head !  —  and  I  don't  like  the 
way  that  arm's  bent.  —  Ned  Hunter,  you  take  Big  Jim's 
corner  of  the  litter  for  a  minute.  Now,  Big  Jim,  you  lift  Mr. 
Rand.  —  So!  we'll  have  him  at  Fontenoy  in  a  jiffy,  and  in 
bed  in  the  blue  room.  Run  ahead,  Unity,  and  tell  Jacqueline 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  75 

and  Mammy  Chloe  to  make  ready.  His  boy's  gone  for 
Gilmer.  Easy  now,  men !  Yes,  't  was  at  this  very  spot 
my  mare  Nelly  threw  me !  —  it  was  Maria  Erskine's  wed- 
ding." 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  heavens  when  the  good  Samari 
tans  and  the  unconscious  man  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the 
wide,  white-pillared  Fontenoy  porch.  The  arrival  had  many 
witnesses;  for  on  hearing  of  the  accident  the  large  party 
assembled  for  the  dancing  class  had  at  once  dropped  all  em 
ployment  and  flocked  to  various  coigns  of  vantage.  A  bevy 
of  young  girls  looked  from  one  parlour  window,  and  another 
framed  Mr.  Pincornet's  face  and  wig  and  flowered  coat. 
In  the  hall  and  on  the  porch  the  elders  gathered,  while  on 
the  broad  porch  steps  young  men  in  holiday  dress  waited  to 
see  if  they  might  be  of  help.  Around  the  corner  of  the  house 
peered  the  house  negroes,  pleasurably  excited  by  any  cata 
strophe  and  any  procession,  even  that  of  a  wounded  man 
borne  on  a  litter. 

The  cortege  arrived.  In  the  midst  of  much  ejaculation, 
and  accompanied  by  a  fire  of  directions  from  Colonel  Dick, 
Lewis  Rand  was  borne  up  the  steps  and  across  the  porch 
into  the  cool,  wide  hall.  Here  the  litter  was  met  by  Jacque 
line  Churchill.  She  came  down  the  shadowy  staircase  in 
a  white  gown,  with  a  salver  and  a  glass  in  her  hand.  "The 
room  is  ready,  Uncle  Dick,"  she  said,  in  a  steady  voice. 
"The  blue  room.  Aunt  Nancy  says  you  must  make  him  take 
this  cordial.  I  have  lint  and  bandages  all  ready.  This  way, 
Big  Jim.  Mind  the  wall!" 

She  turned  and  preceded  the  men  up  the  stair,  along  a 
hallway  and  into  a  pleasant  chamber  hung  with  blue  and 
white.  "Turn  down  the  sheet,  Mammy  Chloe,"  she  directed 
a  negro  woman  standing  beside  the  bed.  "Quick!  quick! 
he  is  bleeding  so." 


76  LEWIS   RAND 

Rand  was  laid  upon  the  bed,  and  as  the  men  drew  their 
arms  from  beneath  him,  he  moved  his  head,  and  his  lips 
parted.  A  moment  later  he  opened  his  eyes.  Colonel  Dick 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "He'll  do  now!  Gilmer  shall  come 
and  bleed  him,  and  he  '11  be  out  again  before  you  can  say 
Jack  Robinson !  I  '11  have  that  place  in  the  road  mended 
to-morrow.  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Rand,  you  've  had  an  acci 
dent.  Lie  still !  you  're  with  friends.  Hey,  what  did  you 
say?" 

Rand  had  said  nothing  articulate.  His  eyes  were  upon 
Jacqueline,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  room  was 
in  the  western  wing  of  the  house,  and  where  she  stood  she  was 
bathed  in  the  light  of  the  sinking  sun.  It  made  her  brown 
hair  golden  and  like  a  nimbus.  Rand  made  a  straying  mo 
tion  with  his  hand.  "I  did  not  believe  in  heaven,"  he  mut 
tered.  "If  I  have  erred  —  " 

"Lie  still,  lie  still!"  said  Jacqueline.  In  a  moment  she 
turned,  left  the  room,  and  went  downstairs.  "He  is  better," 
she  told  her  cousin  Unity,  who  with  Fairfax  Gary  was  wait 
ing  in  the  lower  hall;  then  went  on  to  the  library,  opened  the 
door,  and  closed  it  softly  behind  her. 

The  room  was  dim,  and  she  thought  it  vacant.  There  was 
an  old  leather  chair  which  she  loved,  which  had  always  stood 
beside  the  glass  doors  that  gave  upon  the  sunset,  in  whose 
worn  depths  she  had,  as  a  child,  told  herself  fairy  tales,  and 
found  escape  from  childish  woes.  She  went  straight  to  it 
now,  sank  into  its  old  arms,  and  pressed  her  cheek  against 
the  cool  leather.  She  closed  her  eyes,  and  sat  very  still,  and 
tried  to  ease  the  throbbing  of  her  heart.  Some  one  coughed, 
and  she  looked  up  to  find  her  Uncle  Edward  regarding  her 
from  his  own  favourite  chair. 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  there,"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
thought  the  room  was  empty.  What  are  you  reading?" 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  77 

"A  Treatise  on  Hospitality,"  answered  Major  Churchill, 
with  great  dryness.  "  I  suppose  Dick  is  making  posset  in  his 
best  racing  cup  ?  How  is  the  interesting  patient  ?" 

Jacqueline  coloured.    "Uncle  Dick — " 

"Uncle  Dick,"  interrupted  the  Major,  "is  the  best  of  fel 
lows,  but  he  is  not  perspicacious.  I  am,  and  I  say  again,  why 
the  deuce  did  this  damned  Republican  get  himself  thrown  at 
our  very  gates  ?  In  my  day  a  horse  might  act  a  little  gaily, 
but  a  man  kept  his  seat!" 

Jacqueline  coloured  more  deeply.  "It  was  that  bad  place 
on  the  hill  road.  I  do  not  suppose  that  Mr.  Rand  is  a  poor 
horseman." 

"Who  said  that  he  was?"  demanded  the  Major  testily. 
"A  poor  horseman!  He  and  his  old  wolf  of  a  father  used 
to  break  all  the  colts  for  twenty  miles  round !  That  place 
in  the  road !  Pshaw !  I  've  ridden  by  that  place  in  the  road 
for  forty  years,  but  I  never  had  the  indecency  to  be  brought 
on  a  litter  into  a  gentleman's  house  who  was  not  of  my  way 
of  thinking !  And  every  man  and  woman  on  the  place  — 
barring  poor  Nancy  —  out  to  receive  him !  I  am  not  at  home 
among  fools,  so  I  came  here  —  though  the  Lord  knows  there's 
many  a  fool  to  be  found  in  a  library !  —  Well,  are  any  bones 
broken?" 

"Dr.  Gilmer  will  tell  us  — oh,  he  looked  like  death!" 

"Who?  — William  Gilmer?"  demanded  Uncle  Edward 
with  asperity.  "Your  pronoun  'he'  stands  for  your  ante 
cedent  *  Gilmer/  But  what's  the  English  tongue  when  we 
have  a  Jacobin  in  the  house !  Women  like  strange  animals, 
and  they  are  vastly  fond  of  pitying.  But  you  were  always 
a  home  body,  Jacqueline,  and  left  Unity  to  run  after  the  sea 
lions  and  learned  pigs !  And  now  you  sit  there  as  white  as 
your  gown! " 

Jacqueline  smiled.    "Perhaps  I  am  of  those  who  pity.    I 


78  LEWIS   RAND 

hear  a  horse  upon  the  road!  It  may  be  Dr.  Gilmer!"  and 
up  she  started. 

"The  horse  has  gone  by/'  said  Uncle  Edward.  "Gilmer 
cannot  possibly  be  here  for  an  hour.  Sit  down,  child,  and 
don't  waste  your  pity.  The  Rands  are  used  to  hard  knocks. 
I  've  seen  old  Gideon  in  the  ring,  black  and  blue  and  blind 
with  blood,  demanding  proof  that  he  was  beaten.  The  gen 
tleman  upstairs  will  take  care  of  himself.  Bah !  —  Where 
is  Ludwell  Gary  this  afternoon?" 

"He  rode,  I  think,  to  Charlottesville." 

"You  think !  Don't  you  know  ?  —  What  woman  was  ever 
straightforward ! " 

Major  Churchill  opened  his  book,  looked  at  it,  and  tossed 
it  aside;  took  The  Virginia  Federalist  from  the  table,  and 
for  perhaps  sixty  seconds  appeared  absorbed  in  its  contents, 
then  with  a  loud  "  Pshaw !  "  threw  it  down,  and  rising  walked 
to  a  bookcase.  "I  am  reading  Swift,"  he  said,  and  brought 
a  calf-bound  volume  to  the  window.  "There  was  a  man 
who  knew  hatred  and  the  risus  sardonicus!  Listen  to  this, 
Jacqueline." 

Major  Churchill  read  well,  and  it  was  his  habit  to  read 
aloud  to  Jacqueline,  whose  habit  it  was  to  listen.  Now  she 
sat  before  the  window,  in  the  old  leather  chair,  her  slender 
face  and  form  in  profile,  and  her  eyes  upon  the  sunset  sky. 
It  was  her  accustomed  attitude,  and  Uncle  Edward  read  on 
with  growing  satisfaction,  finding  that  he  was  upon  a  passage 
which  gave  Democracy  its  due.  He  turned  a  page,  then 
another,  glanced  from  the  book,  and  discovered  that  his 
niece  was  not  attending.  "Jacqueline!" 

Jacqueline  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  fading  gold,  and, 
turning  in  her  chair,  faced  her  uncle  with  a  faint  smile.  She 
loved  him  dearly,  and  he  loved  her,  and  they  had  not  many 
secrets  from  each  other.  Now  she  looked  at  him  with  a 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  79 

wavering  light  upon  her  face,  shook  her  head  as  if  in  answer 
to  some  dim  question  of  her  own,  and  broke  into  silent  weep 
ing. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  cried  Uncle  Edward,  and  started  up 
in  alarm.  He  had  a  contemptuous  horror  of  women's  tears; 
but  Jacqueline  was  different,  Jacqueline  was  not  like  other 
women.  He  could  not  remember  having  seen  Jacqueline 
cry  since  she  was  a  child,  and  the  sight  troubled  him  im 
mensely.  She  wept  as  though  she  were  used  to  weeping. 
He  crossed  to  the  chair  by  the  window  and  touched  her 
bowed  head  with  his  wrinkled  hand.  "  What  is  it,  child  ?" 
he  asked.  "Tell  Uncle  Edward." 

But  Jacqueline,  it  appeared,  had  nothing  to  tell.  After 
a  little  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  brokenly  laughed  at  herself; 
and  then,  a  sound  coming  through  the  window,  she  started 
to  her  feet.  "That  is  Dr.  Gilmer!  I  hear  his  horse  at  the 
gate.  Joab  must  have  met  him  upon  the  road ! " 

"Joab?" 

"Mr.  Rand's  servant." 

"You  appear,"  said  the  Major,  "to  know  a  deal  more 
than  I  do  about  Mr.  Rand.  Where  did  you  learn  so  much  ?" 

Jacqueline,  halfway  to  the  door,  turned  upon  him  her  can 
did  eyes.  "  Don't  you  remember  ? "  she  answered,  "  the  month 
that  I  spent,  summer  before  last,  at  Cousin  Jane  Selden's, 
on  the  Three-Notched  Road  ?  I  saw  Mr.  Rand  very  often 
that  summer.  Cousin  Jane  liked  him,  and  he  was  welcome 
at  her  house.  And  when  I  used  to  stay  there  as  a  child  I  saw 
him  then,  and  — and  was  sorry  for  him.  Don't  you  remem 
ber  ?  I  told  you  at  the  time." 

"No,  I  don't  remember,"  replied  Uncle  Edward  grimly. 
"I  have  other  things  to  think  of  than  the  Rands.  There 
should  have  been  no  association  —  though  I  am  surprised 
at  nothing  which  goes  on  beneath  Jane  Selden's  roof.  Jane 


8o  LEWIS   RAND 

Selden  has  a  most  erratic  mind.  —  Don't  sympathize  too 
much,  Jacqueline,  with  that  damned  young  Republican 
upstairs!  He's  an  enemy."  The  Major  walked  to  the  win 
dow.  "It  is  Gilmer,  sure  enough,  and  —  ah,  it  is  Ludwell 
Gary  with  him,  riding  Prince  Rupert.  Come  look,  Jacque 
line!" 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  turned  to  find  that  his  niece  had 
vanished  and  he  was  alone  in  the  library.  Presently  he 
heard  from  the  hall,  through  the  half-open  door,  the  doctor's 
voice  and  Ludwell  Gary's  expressions  of  concern,  Jacque 
line's  low  replies,  a  confusion  of  other  voices,  and  finally, 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  Colonel  Dick's  hearty  "Come  up, 
Gilmer,  come  up!  D'ye  remember  that  damned  place  in 
the  hill  road  where  my  mare  Nelly  threw  me,  coming  home 
at  dawn  from  Maria  Erskine's  wedding  ? " 

Steps  and  voices  died  away.  The  evening  shadows  length 
ened,  and  filled  the  library  where  Uncle  Edward  sat,  propping 
his  lean  old  chin  upon  his  lean  old  hand,  and  staring  at  a 
dim  old  clock  in  the  corner,  as  if  it  could  tell  him  more  than 
the  time  of  day.  He  heard  Mr.  Pincornet's  fiddle  from  the 
long  parlour  in  the  other  wing.  Since  the  doctor  was  come, 
the  younger  part  of  the  gathering  at  Fontenoy  had  cheer 
fully  returned  to  its  business.  The  dancing  class  was  not 
long  neglected.  Uncle  Edward  disliked  France,  disliked 
even  monarchical  and  emigre  France.  And  he  disliked  all 
music  but  Jacqueline's  singing,  and  disliked  the  fiddle  be 
cause  Thomas  Jefferson  played  it.  He  half  rose  to  shut  the 
door  and  so  keep  out  Mr.  Pincornet's  Minuet  from  Ariadne, 
but  reflected  that  the  door  would  also  keep  out  the  doctor's 
descending  voice  and  final  dicta  delivered  at  the  stair-foot. 
Uncle  Edward  was  as  curious  as  a  woman,  and  the  door  re 
mained  ajar.  He  tried  to  read,  but  the  words  conveyed  no 
meaning  to  his  mind,  which  became  more  and  more  frown- 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  81 

ingly  intent  upon  the  fact  of  Jacqueline's  weeping.  What 
had  the  child  to  weep  for  ?  He  determined  to  send  to 
Richmond  to-morrow  for  a  certain  watch  which  he  had  in 
his  mind,  —  plain  gold  with  J.  C.  upon  it  in  pearls.  He  re 
flected  with  satisfaction  that  Gary  as  well  as  Churchill  began 
with  a  C. 

The  glass  door  led  by  a  flight  of  steps  down  to  the  flower 
garden.  Deb  came  up  the  steps  and  into  the  library.  "Kiss 
me  good-night,  Uncle  Edward.  It's  mos'  seven  o'clock. 
I  've  had  my  supper  at  the  Quarter  with  Aunt  Daphne.  The 
scarlet  beans  over  her  door  are  in  bloom,  and  Uncle  Mingo 
told  me  about  the  rabbit  and  the  fox.  Miranda  is  going  to  put 
me  to  bed  because  Mammy  Chloe  is  busy  in  the  blue  room 
with  the  doctor  and  the  man  whose  horse  threw  him." 

Uncle  Edward  put  his  one  arm  around  the  child  and  drew 
her  close  to  his  chair.  Deb  touched  with  her  brown  fingers 
the  sleeve  that  was  pirned  across  his  coat.  "Does  your  arm 
that  is  buried  at  Yorktown  hurt  you  to-day,  Uncle  Edward  ? 
Tell  me  a  story  about  General  Washington." 

"No;  you  tell  me  a  story." 

Deb  considered.  "I'll  tell  you  a  story  about  the  man  up 
stairs  in  the  blue  room." 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  man  in  the  blue  room  ?" 

"Jacqueline  told  me.  She  knows," answered  Deb.  "I  am 
going  to  begin  now,  Uncle  Edward." 

"I  am  listening,"  said  the  Major. 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  on  the  Three-Notched  Road 
a  boy,  a  poor  boy.  He  lived  in  a  log  house  that  was  not  so 
good  as  an  overseer's  house,  and  there  were  pine  trees  all 
around  it,  and  wild  flowers,  but  no  other  kinds  of  flowers. 
And  in  the  trees  there  were  owls,  and  in  the  bushes  there 
were  whip-poor-wills,  and  sometimes  a  mockingbird,  but 
no  other  kinds  of  birds,  and  at  night  the  fireflies  were  all 


82  LEWIS   RAND 

about.  And  outside  the  pine  trees,  all  around  the  house, 
the  tobacco  grew  and  grew.  It  grew  so  broad  and  high  that 
the  children  might  have  played  I-spy  in  it,  —  only  there 
were  n't  any  children.  There  was  only  the  boy,  and  he  hated 
tobacco.  He  was  poor,  and  his  father  was  a  hard  man.  He 
had  no  time  to  play  or  to  learn  —  he  worked  all  day  in  the 
fields  like  a  hand.  He  had  to  work  like  the  men  at  the  lower 
Quarter,  like  Domingo  and  Cato  and  Indian  Jim.  He  worked 
all  the  time.  I  never  saw  the  sun  get  up,  but  he  saw  it  every 
day.  In  the  long  afternoons  when  it  was  hot,  and  we  make 
the  rooms  cool  and  dark,  and  rest  with  a  book,  he  was  work 
ing,  working  like  a  friendless  slave.  And  at  night,  when  the 
moon  rises,  and  we  sit  and  watch  it,  and  wonder,  and  re 
member  all  the  battles  that  were  ever  won  and  lost,  and  all 
the  songs  that  ever  were  sung,  he  could  only  stumble  to  his 
own  poor  corner,  and  sleep,  and  sleep,  with  a  hot  and  heavy 
heart,  and  the  blisters  on  his  poor,  poor  hands ! " 

Major  Churchill  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  his 
niece.  "  Good  God,  child!  whose  words  are  you  using?" 

"Jacqueline's,"  answered  Deb,  staring  in  her  turn.  "Jac 
queline  told  it  to  me  just  that  way,  one  hot  night  when  I 
could  not  sleep,  and  there  was  heat  lightning,  and  she  took 
me  in  her  lap  and  we  sat  by  the  window.  Are  you  tired, 
Uncle  Edward  ?  Does  your  arm  hurt  ?  Suppose  I  finish  the 
story  to-morrow  ? " 

"No,  I  'm  not  tired,"  said  Uncle  Edward.  "Finish  it  now." 

"The  boy,"  went  on  Deb,  using  now  her  own  and  now  Jac 
queline's  remembered  words,  —  "the  boy  did  not  want  to 
work  all  his  life  long  in  the  tobacco-fields,  working  from 
morning  to  night,  with  his  hands,  at  the  thing  he  hated.  He 
wanted  books,  he  wanted  to  learn,  and  to  work  with  his  mind 
in  the  world  beyond  the  Three-Notched  Road.  The  older  he 
grew  the  more  he  wanted  it.  And  Jacqueline  said  that  the 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  83 

mind  finds  a  way,  and  that  the  boy  got  books  together,  and 
he  studied  hard.  You  see,  Jacqueline  knows,  for  when  she 
was  a  little  girl,  she  used  to  stay  sometimes  with  Cousin  Jane 
Selden  on  the  Three-Notched  Road.  And  Cousin  Jane  Sel- 
den's  farm  was  next  to  where  the  boy  lived.  There  was  just  a 
little  stream  between  them.  There  were  no  children  at  Cou 
sin  Jane  Selden's,  and  Jacqueline  was  lonely.  And  she  used 
to  sit  under  the  apple  tree  on  the  bank  of  the  little  stream 
and  send  chip  boats  down  it,  just  as  Miranda  and  I  do. 
Only  she  did  n't  have  Miranda,  and  she  was  all  by  herself. 
And  she  could  see  the  boy  working  on  the  other  side  of 
the  stream,  and  there  was  n't  any  shade  in  the  tobacco-field, 
and  Jacqueline  was  so  sorry  for  him.  And  one  day  he  came 
down  to  the  stream  for  water  and  they  talked  to  each  other. 
And  Jacqueline  told  Cousin  Jane  Selden,  and  Cousin  Jane 
Selden  did  not  mind.  She  said  she  was  sorry  for  the  boy, 
and  that  she  had  given  his  father  a  piece  of  her  mind, — 
only  he  would  n't  take  it.  So  Jacqueline  used  to  see  the  boy 
often  and  often,  for  she  always  played  under  the  apple  tree  by 
the  stream,  and  he  had  a  little  time  to  rest  every  day  at  noon, 
and  he  would  come  down  to  the  shade  on  his  side  of  the 
stream,  and  Jacqueline  told  him  all  about  Fontenoy.  And 
he  told  Jacqueline  what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  was  a 
man,  and  he  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  read  Caesar,  and  she 
had  not,  and  he  told  her  all  about  it.  And  Jacqueline  told 
him  fairy  tales,  but  he  said  they  were  not  true,  and  that  a 
harp  could  not  sing  by  itself,  nor  a  hen  lay  golden  eggs,  nor 
a  beanstalk  grow  a  mile.  He  said  he  did  not  like  lies,  — 
which  was  n't  very  polite.  He  was  older,  you  see,  than  Jac 
queline,  ever  so  much  older.  But  she  knew  how  to  dance, 
and  she  was  taking  music  lessons,  and  so  she  seemed  older, 
and  he  liked  Jacqueline  very  much.  What  is  the  matter, 
Uncle  Edward?" 


84  LEWIS  RAND 

"Nothing.    Go  on,  child." 

"Then  the  summer  was  over,  and  Jacqueline  came  back 
to  Fontenoy.  But  the  next  summer,  when  she  went  to  Cousin 
Jane  Selden's,  there  was  the  boy  working  in  the  tobacco  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stream.  And  Jacqueline  called  to  him 
from  under  the  apple  tree.  And  then  the  month  that  she 
was  to  stay  with  Cousin  Jane  Selden  went  by,  and  she  came 
back  to  Fontenoy.  And  the  next  summer  she  did  n't  go  to  the 
Three-Notched  Road,  but  one  day  the  boy  came  to  Fontenoy." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Major. 

"The  boy's  father  sent  him  to  pay  some  money  that  he 
owed  to  Uncle  Dick.  Jacqueline  says  his  father  was  an 
honest  man,  though  he  was  so  unkind.  And  Uncle  Dick 
sent  for  Jacqueline  and  said, '  Jacqueline,  this  is  young  Lewis 
Rand.  Take  him  and  show  him  the  garden  while  I  write 
this  receipt ! '  So  Jacqueline  and  the  boy  went  into  the  flower 
garden,  and  she  showed  him  the  roses  and  the  peacock  and 
the  sundial.  And  then  he  went  away,  and  she  did  n't  see 
him  any  more  for  years  and  years,  not  till  she  was  grown, 
and  everything  was  changed.  And  —  and  that  is  the  end  of 
the  story.  But  the  boy's  name  was  Lewis  Rand,  and  the 
man's  name,  up  in  the  blue  room,  is  Mr.  Lewis  Rand,  and 
I  heard  Mr.  Fairfax  Cary  say  that  Lewis  Rand  was  the  Devil, 
—  but  Jacqueline  would  n't  have  liked  the  Devil,  would  she, 
Uncle  Edward?" 

"No,  child,  no,  no!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Edward,  with  vio 
lence.  He  rose  so  suddenly  from  his  chair,  and  he  looked  so 
grim  and  grey,  that  Deb  was  almost  frightened. 

"Did  n't  you  like  the  story,  Uncle  Edward  ?  I  did  like  it 
so  much  when  Jacqueline  told  it  to  me  —  only  she  would 
never  tell  it  to  me  again." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  liked  it,  honey.  Don't  I  like  all  your  stories  ? 
But  I  don't  like  Mr.  Rand." 


RAND   COMES   TO   FONTENOY  85 

"Will  he  stay  always  upstairs  in  the  blue  room  ?" 

"The  Lord  forbid!"  cried  Major  Churchill. 

The  door  opened  wide,  and  Mr.  Ned  Hunter  put  in  an 
important  face.  "Are  you  there,  Major?  Here's  the  devil 
to  pay.  Rand's  arm  is  broken  and  his  ankle  wrenched  and 
his  head  cut  open !  The  doctor  says  he  must  n't  be  moved 
for  at  least  a  fortnight.  I  thought  you  'd  like  to  know." 
He  was  gone  to  spread  the  news. 

Major  Churchill  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  turned  to 
the  table,  placed  with  deliberation  a  marker  between  the 
leaves  of  Swift,  took  up  the  volume,  and  restored  it  to  its 
proper  shelf. 

"It  is  getting  dark  —  I  must  go  to  bed,"  said  Deb.  "Uncle 
Edward,  who  pays  the  devil  ? " 

"His  hosts,  child,"  answered  Uncle  Edward,  looking  very 
grim  and  very  old. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    BLUE    ROOM 

THE  news  of  the  accident  to  Lewis  Rand  spread  far 
and  wide.  Both  as  a  lawyer  and  as  Mr.  Jefferson's 
adjutant  he  had  become  in  two  years'  time  a  marked 
man.  Federalist  and  Republican  were  agreed  that  the  re 
cent  election  was  but  a  foot  in  the  stirrup.  Another  two  years 
might  see  him  —  almost  anywhere.  He  was  likely  to  ride 
far  and  to  ride  fast.  To  the  Federalists  his  progress  from  the 
tobacco-fields  to  the  Elysian  Heights  of  office  was  but  an 
other  burning  sign  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  times  and  the 
tendencies  of  Jefferson.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Republicans 
quoted  the  Rights  of  Man  and  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  and  made  the  name  of  Lewis  Rand  as  symbolic  as  a 
liberty  pole.  He  was  bon  enfant,  bon  Republicain.  Virginia, 
like  Cornelia,  numbered  him  among  her  starry  gems.  He 
was  of  the  Gracchi.  He  was  almost  anything  Roman,  Re 
volutionary,  and  Patriotic  that  the  mind  of  a  perfervid  poet 
could  conjure  up  and  fix  in  a  corner  of  the  Argus  or  the 
Examiner.  Every  newspaper  in  the  state  mentioned  the 
accident,  and  in  a  letter  from  a  Gentleman  of  Virginia,  an 
account  of  it  was  read  by  the  subscribers  to  the  Aurora. 

All  this  was  somewhat  later,  when  the  stage-coach  and 
the  mail-rider  had  distributed  the  slow-travelling  news.  In 
the  mean  time  Lewis  Rand  lay  in  the  curtained  bed  in  the 
blue  room  at  Fontenoy,  and  wondered  at  that  subtle  force 
called  Chance.  The  blue  roses  upon  the  hangings,  the  blue 
willows  and  impossible  bridges  of  the  china,  the  apple- 
cheeked  moon  surmounting  the  face  of  the  loud-ticking  clock 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  87 

were  not  more  fantastically  unnatural  than  that  he,  Lewis 
Rand,  should  be  lying  there  between  the  linen  sheets,  in  the 
sunny  morning  stillness  of  the  fourth  day  after  his  fall,  lis 
tening  for  the  stir  of  the  awakening  house,  for  one  step  upon 
the  stair,  and  for  one  voice.  He  was  where  he  had  desired 
to  be;  he  was  at  Fontenoy;  but  the  strangeness  of  his  being 
there  weighed  upon  him.  He  would  hear  the  step  and  the 
voice;  chance  had  brought  him  past  every  ward  of  a  hostile 
house,  and  had  laid  him  there  in  the  blue  room  to  be  gener 
ously  pitied  and  lavishly  cared  for;  chance  had  given  him 
leverage.  To  each  the  chaos  of  his  own  nature;  if,  with  Rand, 
the  Spirit  brooded  none  too  closely  over  the  face  of  the  deep, 
yet  was  there  light  enough  to  tread  by.  As  he  lay  in  the  blue 
room,  watching  the  early  sunlight  steal  through  the  window 
and  lay  a  golden  finger  on  his  bed,  he  had  no  sense  of  tri 
umph,  no  smugness  of  satisfaction  over  the  attainment  of  his 
dream.  He  thought  of  how  often  as  a  boy,  working  under  the 
glare  of  the  sun,  in  the  shadeless  tobacco-fields,  he  had 
dreamed  of  the  poplars  of  Fontenoy,  the  cool  porches,  the 
cool  rooms,  the  rest  from  labour,  and  the  books,  of  all  that 
the  little  girl  named  Jacqueline  had  told  him,  sitting  under 
the  apple  tree  beside  the  stream  that  flowed  between  asjarge 
and  a  small  farm  on  the  Three-Notched  Road.  As  a  boy, 
he  would  have  been  puzzled  to  choose  between  "  Will  you 
go  to  Heaven  ? "  and  "  Will  you  go  to  Fontenoy  ? "  The  one 
seemed  as  remote,  as  unattainable,  and  as  happy  as  the  other. 
The  advantage  was  possibly  with  Fontenoy,  for  he  could 
picture  that  to  himself.  He  could  not  have  described  the 
mansions  in  the  skies,  but,  thanks  to  Jacqueline,  he  knew 
every  room  at  Fontenoy.  Before  he  was  laid  in  it,  he  had 
known  the  blue  room,  the  roses  on  the  curtains,  and  the 
peacock-feathered  mandarin  forever  climbing  a  dull  yellow 
screen.  The  library  should  be  below,  with  the  bookshelves, 


88  LEWIS   RAND 

and  the  glass  door  opening  on  the  snowball  bushes.  Outside 
his  window  was  the  flower  garden.  He  had  seen  the  garden 
with  his  bodily  eyes,  for  there  was  the  morning  he  had  spent 
at  Fontenoy.  In  the  desert  of  his  hardly-treated,  eager, 
and  longing  youth  the  place  and  the  life  of  which  the  girl 
who  came  to  Mrs.  Selden's  had  told  him  was  become  the 
vision  of  an  oasis  and  a  paradise.  The  magic  word  was 
Fontenoy.  If  Gideon  Rand  or  Adam  Gaudylock  chanced  to 
pronounce  it,  it  was  as  though  the  Captain  of  the  Thieves 
had  said,  "Open  Sesame!"  The  cave  door  opened,  and  he 
saw  strange  riches. 

That  day  at  Foatenoy !  He  tried  to  recall  it,  but  it  did  not 
stand  out  in  his  memory;  it  was  curiously  without  edge. 
Trying  to  remember  was  like  remembering  a  dream,  delicious 
and  evasive.  The  child  named  Jacqueline  had  changed  to 
a  girl  named  Jacqueline.  She  had  spoken  to  him  shyly,  and 
he  had  answered  with  much  greater  shyness,  with  a  reddening 
cheek  and  a  stumbling  tongue.  He  remembered  her  dress, 
a  soft  blue  stuff  that  he  was  afraid  of  touching,  and  he  re 
membered  how  burning  was  his  consciousness  of  his  coarse 
shoes,  his  shirt  of  osnaburg,  the  disreputable  hat  upon  his 
sunburnt  hair.  Then  they  had  walked  in  the  garden,  and 
sat  on  the  steps  of  a  summer  house,  and  he  had  been  very 
happy  after  all.  And  then  a  black  boy  had  come  to  tell  him 
that  the  Colonel  was  ready  with  the  receipt  he  was  to  carry 
back  to  the  Three-Notched  Road.  He  said  good-bye  with 
great  awkwardness,  and  went  away,  and  he  saw  the  girl  no 
more  for  a  long,  long  time,  for  so  long  a  time  that  insensibly 
her  image  faded.  It  was  in  the  October  of  that  year  that  he 
went  to  Richmond  with  Gideon,  and  met  Mr.  Jefferson  in 
the  bookshop  by  the  bridge. 

The  years  that  followed  that  meeting!  Rand,  lying  still 
upon  his  pillows,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  yellow  mandarin, 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  89 

passed  them  in  review, — well,  they  had  not  been  wasted! 
Usually  he  saw  the  approximate  truth  about  himself,  and  he 
knew  that  these  years  of  toil  and  achievement  were  honour 
able  to  him.  He  thought  of  all  those  years,  and  then  he  turned 
his  head  upon  the  pillow  and  faced  through  widely  opened 
windows  the  misty,  fragrant  morning.  His  mind  turned  with 
suddenness  to  a  morning  two  summers  past.  His  father,  who 
had  lived  to  take  grim  pride  in  the  son  he  had  been  used  to 
thwart,  was  six  months  dead,  and  he  himself  was  living 
alone,  as  he  yet  lived  alone,  in  the  small  house  upon  the 
Three-Notched  Road.  He  lived  there  with  his  ambitions, 
which  were  many.  That  morning  he  had  gone,  without  know 
ing  why,  down  through  the  tobacco-field  to  the  stream  which 
parted  his  patrimony  from  his  neighbour's  grassy  orchard. 
And  there,  beneath  the  apple  tree,  across  the  clear,  brown 
water  stood  Jacqueline.  He  forgot  her  no  more.  "Fonte- 
noy"  was  again  the  magic  word,  the  "Open  Sesame,"  but 
Jacqueline  was  the  wealth  of  all  the  world.  He  was  young, 
and  he  was  a  man  of  strong  passions  who  had  lived,  perforce, 
a  rigid,  lonely,  and  ascetic  life.  He  had  dreamed  of  most 
things,  and  he  had  dreamed  of  love.  It  was  the  hectic  vision 
of  a  lilied  pool.  Love,  entered,  proved  to  be  the  sea,  bound 
less  and  strong,  salt,  clean,  and  the  nurse  of  life.  He  loved 
Jacqueline  to  the  end  of  his  life;  he  never  swerved  from 
allegiance  to  the  sea. 

For  a  summer  month  he  saw  her  almost  every  day.  —  twice 
or  thrice  beneath  the  apple  tree  beside  the  stream,  and  at 
other  times  in  Mrs.  Jane  Selden's  parlour,  porch,  or  little 
friendly  garden.  He  did  not  tell  Jacqueline  that  he  loved 
her;  he  had  not  dared  so  much.  The  fact  that  he  was  the  son 
of  Gideon  Rand  while  she  was  a  Churchill  mattered  little 
to  his  common  sense  and  his  Republicanism.  His  blood  was 
clean.  He  had  never  heard  of  a  Rand  in  prison  or  a  beggar. 


go  LEWIS   RAND 

Moreover,  he  meant  to  make  his  name  an  honoured  one. 
But  he  was  a  poor  man,  though  he  meant  also  to  become 
a  rich  man,  and  he  was  a  Republican,  with  no  thought  of 
changing  his  party.  Politics  might  not  matter,  perhaps,  to 
Miss  Churchill,  but  they  mattered  decidedly  to  her  uncles 
and  guardians,  whom  she  loved  and  obeyed.  Wealth  and 
birth  mattered  too,  to  them.  Lewis  Rand  set  no  great  store 
upon  obedience  for  obedience'  sake,  but  he  divined  that 
Miss  Churchill  rarely  vexed  those  she  loved.  He  had  an 
iron  will,  and  he  set  his  lips,  and  resolved  that  this  was  not 
the  time  to  speak  of  that  ocean  on  whose  shore  he  stood. 
He  meant  that  the  time  should  come.  The  probability  of  a 
rejection  he  looked  full  in  the  face,  and  found  that  he  did 
not  believe  in  it,  though  when  he  looked  as  fully  at  his  assur 
ance,  that,  too,  became  incredibly  without  foundation.  Jac 
queline's  spirit  might  dwell  in  the  mountains,  and  never 
dream  of  the  sea;  she  gave  him  no  sign,  and  he  could  not 
tell.  The  summer  month  went  by;  she  returned  to  Fontenoy, 
and  he  saw  her  no  more  for  a  long  time.  When  she  was 
gone,  he  fell  upon  work  like  a  bereaved  lion  upon  his  prey. 
As  best  he  might,  he  would  make  that  hunting  do.  He 
worked  at  first  with  lonely  fury,  though  at  last  with  zest. 
Only  by  this  road,  he  knew,  could  he  enter  the  gates  of 
Fontenoy.  Success  begets  success;  let  him  make  himself  a 
name,  and  the  gates  might  open !  When  he  was  not  in  court, 
or  not  most  diligently  preparing  a  case,  or  not  instructing 
Tom  Mocket,  who  was  on  the  way  to  become  his  partner,  or 
not  busied  with  affairs  of  his  patron,  or  not  keenly  observant 
of  the  methods  of  the  poor  whites  whom  he  hired  to  tend 
his  tobacco,  he  read.  He  read  history:  Clarendon,  Gibbon, 
and  Hume;  Aristotle,  Bacon,  Machiavelli,  Shakespeare, 
and  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  Tom  Paine.  His  Ossian,  Cae 
sar,  and  Plutarch  belonged  to  his  younger  days.  A  translation 


v.i  i  TI  i  w  c.  n  o  i 


THE  BLUE  ROOM  91 

of  the  Divina  Commedia  fell  into  his  hands,  and  once  he 
chanced  to  take  up,  and  then  read  with  the  closest  attention, 
Godwin's  Caleb  Williams.  From  Monticello  he  received 
the  hot  and  clamorous  journals  of  the  day,  Federalist  and 
Republican.  He  studied  the  conditions  they  portrayed  with 
the  intentness  of  a  gladiator  surveying  his  arena.  The  Ex 
aminer,  the  Argus,  the  Aurora,  the  Gazette  gave,  besides 
the  home  conflict,  the  foreign  news.  He  missed  no  step  of 
Buonaparte's. 

Thrice  in  these  two  years  he  had  seen  Jacqueline.  Once 
he  rode  to  church  at  Saint  Anne's  that  he  might  see  her. 
She  had  been  at  the  great  race  when  Major  Churchill's 
Mustapha  won  over  Nonpareil  and  Buckeye.  The  third 
time  was  a  month  ago  in  Charlottesville.  She  was  walking, 
and  Ludwell  Cary  was  with  her.  When  she  bowed  to  Rand, 
Cary  had  looked  surprised,  but  his  hat  was  instantly  off. 
Rand  bowed  in  return,  and  passed  them,  going  on  to  the 
Court  House.  He  had  not  seen  her  again  until  four  days  ago, 
when  he  opened  his  eyes  upon  her  face.  The  golden  finger 
on  his  bed  became  a  shining  lance  that  struck  across  to  the 
wall.  There  were  ivy  and  a  climbing  rose  about  the  window 
through  which  he  looked  to  the  shimmering  poplars  and 
the  distant  hills.  Many  birds  were  singing,  and  from  the 
direction  of  the  quarters  sounded  the  faint  blowing  of  a  horn. 
A  bee  came  droning  in  to  the  pansies  in  a  bowl.  Rand's  dark 
eyes  made  a  journey  through  the  room,  from  the  flowered 
curtains  to  the  mandarin  on  the  screen,  from  the  screen  to 
the  willowed  china  and  the  easy  chair,  from  the  chair  to  the 
picture  of  General  Washington  on  the  wall,  the  vases  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  and  the  green  hemlock  branches  masking  for 
the  summer  the  fireplace  below.  Over  all  the  blue  room 
and  the  landscape  without  was  a  sense  of  home,  of  order  and 
familiar  sweetness.  It  struck  to  the  soul  of  a  too  lonely  and 


92  LEWIS   RAND 

too  self-reliant  man.  Suddenly,  without  warning,  tears  were 
in  his  eyes.  Raising  his  uninjured  arm,  he  brushed  them 
away,  settled  his  bandaged  head  upon  the  pillows,  and  stared 
at  the  clock.  The  half-shut  door  of  a  small  adjoining  room 
opened  very  slowly  and  softly,  and  Joab  entered  on  tiptoe, 
elaborate  caution  surrounding  him  like  an  atmosphere. 

"  You,  Joab,"  said  Rand.  "  It 's  time  you  were  in  the  field." 

Joab's  preternaturally  lengthened  countenance  became 
short,  broad,  and  genial.  He  threw  back  his  head  and  breathed 
relief.  "  Dar  now !  What  I  tell  em  ?  Cyarn  Selim  nor  no 
urr  hoss  kill  you,  Marse  Lewis!  Mornin',  sah.  I  reckon  hit 
is  time  I  wuz  in  de  field,  but  I  reckon  I  got  to  stay  heah  to 
tek  care  of  you.  How  yo  ahm,  Marse  Lewis  ? " 

"It's  not  so  bad." 

"You  sho  wuz  ressless  in  yo  sleep  —  a-talkin'  an'  a-turnin' 
an'  sayin'  you  must  n't  keep  de  cote  waitin'.  I  done  sit  by 
you  ter  keep  de  kivers  on  twill  de  cock  crow.  What  you 
reckon  you  said  to  me  ?  You  said,  *  Is  dat  you,  Gineral  Buon 
aparte?'" 

Rand  laughed,  "Did  you  say,  'Yes,  sire  my  brother?'3 

"No,  sah,  I  say,  'Hit's  Joab,  Marse  Lewis.'  I  gwine  now 
ter  git  de  water  to  shave  you  ef  dar  's  fire  in  de  kitchen.  Folks 
git  up  moughty  late  at  Fontenoy.  I  don'  know  when  I  gwine 
git  yo  breakfast." 

An  hour  later  appeared  the  master  of  the  house,  red  and 
jovial,  solicitous  for  his  guest's  comfort,  and  prodigal  of  sug 
gestions  for  his  ease  and  entertainment.  Not  until  Rand  was 
well  and  gone  from  Fontenoy  would  Colonel  Dick  let  his 
mind  rest  upon  the  indubitable  fact  that  here  had  been  an 
upstart  and  an  enemy.  Hard  upon  the  Colonel's  steps  came 
the  doctor.  Arm  and  ankle  and  wounded  head  were  doing 
well  —  there  was  no  fever  to  speak  of — Mr.  Rand  had  an 
unabused  constitution  and  would  make  a  rapid  recovery 


THE   BLUE  ROOM  93 

For  precaution's  sake,  best  let  a  little  blood.  Rest,  gruel,  and 
quiet,  and  in  a  few  days  Mr.  Rand  would  be  downstairs 
with  the  ladies.  The  blood  was  let,  and  the  doctor  rode 
away.  Joab  and  the  culprit  Selim  went  on  Rand's  errands 
to  the  town  and  to  the  home  on  the  Three-Notched  Road. 
Mammy  Chloe,  in  white  apron  and  kerchief  and  coloured 
turban,  presented  herself  with  a  curtsy,  delivered  kindly 
messages  from  the  ladies  of  the  house,  and  sat  down  with 
her  sewing  in  the  little  adjoining  room.  The  morning  ad 
vanced,  sunny  and  peaceful,  with  vague  sounds,  faint 
laughter  from  distant  rooms,  droning  of  bees,  and  rustling 
of  cool  poplar  leaves. 

Rand,  lying  high  upon  his  pillows,  stopped  his  work  of 
writing  with  his  left  hand  to  listen  to  a  step  coming  up  the 
polished  stairway  and  along  the  passage  leading  to  his  room. 
His  ear  was  almost  as  quick  and  accurate  as  was  Adam 
Gaudylock's,  and  he  rightly  thought  he  knew  the  step.  A 
somewhat  strange  smile  was  on  his  lips  when  Ludwell  Gary 
knocked  lightly  at  the  blue  room  door.  "Come  in!"  called 
Rand,  and  Gary,  entering,  closed  the  door  behind  him  and 
came  up  to  the  bed  with  an  outstretched  hand  and  a  pleas 
ant  light  upon  his  handsome  face. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Rand,"  he  said,  smiling,  "I  see  my  revenge. 
I  shall  sit  each  day  by  your  bedside,  and  read  you  the  Feder 
alist  !  How  is  the  arm  ?  Your  right !  That 's  bad ! " 

"It  will  heal,"  answered  Rand.  "Will  you  not  take  a 
chair?" 

Gary  pushed  the  easy  chair  nearer  the  bed,  and  sat  down. 
"The  ladies  charge  me,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "with  more 
messages  of  sympathy  and  hopes  for  your  recovery  than  I 
can  remember.  Miss  Dandridge  vows  that  you  have  sup 
planted  in  her  affections  the  hero  of  her  favourite  romance. 
'T  was  she  and  my  brother,  you  know,  who  found  you  upon 


94  LEWIS   RAND 

the  road.  Colonel  Churchill  and  the  county  must  mend 
that  turn  where  you  came  to  grief.  It  is  a  dangerous 
place." 

"I  was  not  attentive,"  said  Rand,  "and  my  horse  is  a 
masterful  brute.  Pray  assure  Miss  Dandridge  and  your 
brother  of  my  gratitude.  I  am  under  deep  obligation  to  all 
at  Fontenoy." 

"It  is  a  kindly  place,"  said  Cary  simply.  He  looked  about 
him.  "The  blue  room !  When  I  was  a  boy  and  came  a-visit- 
ing,  they  always  put  me  here.  That  screen  would  set  me 
dreaming  —  and  the  blue  roses  —  and  the  moon  clock.  I 
used  to  lie  in  that  bed  and  send  myself  to  sleep  with  more 
tales  than  are  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  There's  a  rift  in 
the  poplars  through  which  you  can  see  a  very  bright  star  — • 
Sirius,  I  believe.  May  you  have  pleasant  dreams,  Mr.  Rand, 
in  my  old  bed!"  He  glanced  from  Rand's  flushed  face  to 
the  papers  strewn  upon  the  counterpane.  "You  have  been 
writing  ?  Would  Dr.  Gilmer  approve  ? " 

Rand  looked  somewhat  ruefully  at  the  scrawled  sheets 
and  the  ink  upon  his  fingers.  "It  is  a  necessary  paper  of 
instructions,"  he  said.  "I  was  retained  by  the  State  for  the 
North  Garden  murder  case.  It  is  to  be  tried  next  week  — 
and  here  am  I,  laid  by  the  heels !  My  associate  must  handle 
it."  He  made  a  movement  of  impatience.  "He's  skilful 
enough,  but  he 's  not  the  sort  to  convince  a  jury  —  especially 
in  Albemarle,  where  they  don't  like  to  hang  people.  If 
he's  left  to  himself,  Fitch  may  go  free." 

"The  murderer?" 

"Yes,  the  murderer.  These,"  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
papers,  "are  the  points  that  must  be  made.  If  Mocket  fol 
lows  instructions,  the  State  will  win.  But  I  wish  that  Selim 
had  not  chosen  to  break  my  right  arm  —  it  is  difficult  to 
write  with  the  left  hand." 


THE  BLUE   ROOM  95 

"Could  not  Mr.  Mocket  take  his  instructions  directly  from 
you?" 

Rand  moved  again  impatiently,  and  with  a  quick  sigh. 
"I  sent  him  word  not  to  come.  I  will  not  bring  a  friend  or 
ally  where  I  myself  must  seem  an  intruder  and  a  most 
unwelcome  guest.  There 's  a  fine  irony  in  human  affairs ! 
Selim  might  have  thrown  me  before  Edgehill  or  Dtmlora  — 
but  to  choose  Fontenoy ! "  He  looked  at  Gary  with  a  certain 
appeal.  "I  shall,  of  course,  remove  myself  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  In  the  meantime,  if  you  could  assure  me  that  Colonel 
Churchill  and  his  family  understand — " 

"Set  your  mind  at  rest/'  said  Cary  at  once.  "Colonel 
Churchill  is  the  soul  of  kindness  and  hospitality,  and  the  ladies 
of  Fontenoy  are  all  angels.  You  must  not  think  yourself  an 
unwelcome  guest."  He  glanced  again  at  the  papers.  "I  am 
sure  you  should  not  try  to  write.  Will  you  not  accept  me 
as  amanuensis  ?  The  matter  is  not  private  ? " 

"Not  at  all:  but  —  " 

"Then  let  me  write  from  your  dictation.  I  have  nothing 
at  all  to  do  for  the  next  two  hours,  —  I  am  staying  in  the 
house,  you  know,  —  and  it  will  give  me  genuine  pleasure 
to  help  you.  You  have  no  business  with  such  labour.  Dr. 
Gilmer,  I  know,  must  have  forbidden  it.  Come!  I  write  a 
very  fair  clerkly  hand." 

"You  don't  know  the  imposition,"  said  Rand,  with  an 
answering  smile.  "It  is  nothing  less  than  a  Treatise  on 
Murder." 

"I  shall  be  glad/'  replied  Cary,  "to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say  on  the  subject.  Come !  here  are  blank  sheets  and  a 
new  quill  and  an  attentive  secretary ! " 

Rand  smiled.  "It's  the  strangest  post  for  you!  —  but  all 
life's  a  dream  just  now.  I  confess  that  writing  is  uphill 
work!  Well  —  since  you  are  so  good." 


96  LEWIS   RAND 

He  began  to  dictate.  At  first  his  words  came  slowly,  with 
some  stiffness  and  self-consciousness.  This  passed;  he  for 
got  himself,  thought  only  of  his  subject,  and  utterance  be 
came  quiet,  grave,  and  fluent.  He  did  not  speak  as  though 
he  were  addressing  a  jury.  Gesture  was  impossible,  and  his 
voice  must  not  carry  beyond  the  blue  room.  He  spoke  as 
to  himself,  as  giving  reasons  to  a  high  intelligence  for  the 
invalidity  of  murder.  For  an  infusion  of  sentiment  and 
rhetoric  he  knew  he  might  trust  Mocket's  unaided  powers, 
but  the  basis  of  the  matter  he  would  furnish.  He  spoke  of 
murder  as  the  check  the  savage  gives  to  social  order,  as  the 
costliest  error,  the  last  injustice,  the  monstrousness  beyond 
the  brute,  the  debt  without  surety,  the  destruction  by  a  fool 
of  that  which  he  knows  not  how  to  create.  He  spoke  for 
society,  without  animus  and  without  sentiment;  in  a  level 
voice  marshalling  fact  and  example,  and  moving  unfalter 
ingly  toward  the  doom  of  the  transgressor.  Turning  to  the 
case  in  hand,  he  wove  strand  by  strand  a  rope  for  the  guilty 
wretch  in  question;  then  laid  it  for  the  nonce  aside  and  spoke 
of  murder  more  deeply  with  a  sombre  force  and  a  red  glow  of 
imagery.  Then  followed  three  minutes  of  slow  words  which 
laid  the  finished  and  tested  rope  in  the  sheriff's  hand.  Rand's 
voice  ceased,  and  he  lay  staring  at  the  poplar  leaves  without 
the  window. 

Gary  laid  the  pen  softly  down,  sat  still  and  upright  in  his 
chair  for  a  minute,  then  leaned  back  with  a  long  breath. 
"The  poor  wretch!"  he  said. 

"Poor  enough/'  assented  Rand  abruptly.  "But  Nature 
does  not,  and  Society  must  not,  think  of  that.  As  he  brewed, 
so  let  him  drink,  and  the  measure  that  he  meted,  let  it  be 
meted  to  him  again.  There  is  on  earth  no  place  for  him." 
He  fell  silent  again,  his  eyes  upon  the  dancing  leaves. 

"You  will  make  your  mark,"  said  Gary  slowly.    "This 


THE  BLUE   ROOM  97 

is  more  than  able  work.  You  have  before  you  a  great 
future." 

Rand  looked  at  him  half  eagerly,  half  wistfully.  "Do 
you  really  think  that  ? " 

"I  cannot  think  otherwise,"  Gary  answered.  "I  saw  it 
plainly  in  the  courtroom  the  other  day."  He  smiled.  "I  de 
plore  your  political  principles,  Mr.  Rand,  but  I  rejoice  that 
my  conqueror  is  no  lesser  man.  I  must  to  work  against  the 


next  time  we  encounter." 


"You  have  been  long  out  of  the  county,"  said  Rand.  "I 
had  the  start  of  you,  that  is  all.  You  were  trained  to  the  law. 
Will  you  practise  it,  or  will  Greenwood  take  all  your  time  ?" 

"I  shall  practise.  A  man's  life  is  larger  than  a  few  acres, 
a  house,  and  slaves.  But  first  I  must  put  Greenwood  in  order, 
and  I  must  —  "  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  sat  look 
ing  about  the  blue  room.  "The  old  moon  clock!  I  used  to 
listen  to  it  in  the  night  and  dream  of  twenty  thousand  things, 
and  never  once  of  what  I  dream  of  now !  What  a  strange 
young  savage  is  a  boy ! "  He  gathered  the  written  sheets 
together.  "You  will  want  to  look  these  over?  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  see  that  they  reach  Mr.  Mocket  safely,  or  to 
serve  you  in  any  way.  Just  now  I  am  very  idle,  and  I  will  be 
your  secretary  every  day  with  pleasure."  He  rose.  "And 
now  you  must  rest,  or  we  will  have  a  rating  from  Dr. 
Gilmer.  Is  there  any  message  I  may  take  for  you  ? " 

"My  devotion  and  my  thanks  to  the  ladies  of  the  house," 
replied  Rand  —  "to  Mrs.  Churchill  and  Miss  Dandridge  and 
to  Miss  Churchill.  For  these"  —  he  put  his  hand  upon  the 
papers  —  "I  shall  look  them  over,  and  Joab  will  take  them  to 
Charlottesville  to  Mocket.  I  cannot  sufficiently  thank  you 
for  your  aid  and  for  your  kindness." 

Cary  went,  and  Rand  lay  back  upon  his  pillows,  weary 
enough,  though  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips.  He  valued  Gary's 


98  LEWIS   RAND 

visit,  valued  the  opinion  of  his  fellow  lawyer  and  fellow 
thinker.  He  valued  praise  from  almost  any  source,  though 
this  was  a  hidden  thirst.  Where  he  loved,  there  he  valued 
good  opinion  most;  but  also  he  strongly  desired  that  his 
enemies  should  think  highly  of  him.  To  be  justly  feared 
was  one  thing,  to  be  contemned  quite  another.  Apparently 
Ludwell  Gary  neither  feared  nor  contemned.  As,  a  few  days 
before  on  the  Justice's  Bench,  Rand  had  wondered  if  he 
were  going  to  hate  Gary,  so  now,  lying  in  the  quiet  blue  room, 
weakened  by  pain  and  loss  of  blood,  softened  by  exquisite 
kindness,  and  touched  by  approbation,  he  wondered  if  he 
were  going  to  like  Gary.  Something  of  the  old  charm,  the 
old  appeal,  the  old  recognition,  with  no  mean  envy,  of  a 
golden  nature  moving  in  harmonious  circumstance,  stirred 
in  Lewis  Rand's  breast.  He  sighed  and  lay  still,  his  eyes 
upon  the  pansies  on  the  table  beside  his  bed.  The  moon 
clock  ticked;  the  sunshine  entered  softly  through  the  veil  of 
poplar  leaves;  upon  the  bough  that  brushed  the  window, 
a  cicada  shrilled  of  the  approaching  summer.  Rand  put  out 
his  uninjured  arm  and  took  a  pansy  from  the  bowl.  The  little 
face,  brave  and  friendly,  looked  at  him  from  the  white  coun 
terpane  where  he  laid  it.  He  studied  it  for  a  while,  touching 
it  gently,  with  the  thought  in  his  mind  that  Jacqueline  might 
have  gathered  the  pansies,  and  then  he  left  it  there,  took  up 
his  papers,  and  turned  to  the  argument  which  must  hang 
Fitch. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GARY   AND   JACQUELINE 

AT  supper  table  that  evening  at  Fontenoy,  Ludwell 
Gary  said  something  complimentary  to  the  prisoner 
in  the  blue  room.  Fairfax  Gary  fired  up.  "You  are 
too  easy,  Ludwell !  Lewis  Rand,  I  warn  you,  is  a  dangerous 
man !  Serve  him  once,  and  you  serve  him  once  too  often !  — 
begging  your  pardon,  Colonel  Churchill!" 

"We  could  hardly  have  left  him,  you  know,"  reasoned  his 
host  good-naturedly,  "on  the  roadside,  and  Dick  Wood's 
the  nearest  house !  And  once  within  a  man's  doors,  every 
attention,  of  course,  must  be  shown.  But,  as  you  say,  he  is 
a  dangerous  fellow." 

"Dangerous  fiddlesticks!"  growled  Major  Churchill  from 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  where  he  sat  at  Jacqueline's  right 
hand.  "I  would  have  as  soon  called  old  Gideon  Rand  dan 
gerous!  Like  father,  like  son.  You  may  be  sure  that  this 
fellow's  spirit  rolls  tobacco.  Maybe  now  and  then  it  breaks 
a  colt." 

"Dangerous*  implies  power  to  be  dangerous,"  said  Cary, 
"and  conversely  power  to  be  humane.  A  turn,  and  all  the 
strength  of  the  man  may  flow  toward  good." 

"A  fool  and  his  doctrine!"  snapped  Major  Edward.  "I 
do  not  expect  grapes  from  thistles,  or  a  silk  purse  from  a 


sow  s  ear." 


"Tut,  tut,  Ned!  The  man  who  carries  this  county  may 
be  a  damned  Republican,  but  he  is  not  a  fool,"  pronounced 
Colonel  Dick.  "Jacqueline,  my  dear,  another  cup  of 
coffee." 


ioo  LEWIS   RAND 

"  If  we  were  all  as  good  as  gold,"  said  Unity  pensively, 
"and  as  wise  as  —  as  Socrates,  and  wore  black  cockades,  and 
cared  only  for  the  Washington  March,  and  hated  Buona 
parte,  and  the  Devil,  how  tiresome  life  would  be!  —  Myself, 
I  like  variety  and  the  Marseillaise!" 

"Then  you  differ  from  the  other  rogues  only  in  liking  the 
Rogue's  March,"  said  Uncle  Edward.  "Jacqueline,  more 
sugar ! " 

The  younger  Gary  rushed  to  Miss  Dandridge's  defence. 
"Well,  sir,  in  itself  the  Marseillaise  is  a  very  noble  air.  It 
is  better  than  Jefferson's  March ! " 

"Oh,  a  very  good  air  to  go  to  the  gallows  by!"  snapped 
Uncle  Edward.  "Jacqueline,  some  cream!" 

"Well,  well,"  said  his  brother  amicably,  from  the  head  of 
the  table,  "we  must  care  for  a  man  when  he's  wounded 
at  our  door,  friend  or  foe,  Federalist  or  damned  Republican. 
Noblesse  oblige.  I  was  glad  enough  the  night  my  mare  Nelly 
threw  me,  coming  home  from  Maria  Erskine's  wedding, 
to  hear  Bob  Carter's  voice  behind  me !  And  if  Gideon  Rand 
was  a  surly  old  heathen,  he  broke  colts  well,  and  he  rolled 
tobacco  well.  We'll  treat  his  son  like  a  Christian." 

"And  he'll  repay  you  like  a  Turk!"  broke  out  Major 
Edward.  "I  tell  you  it  is  bred  in  the  bone — " 

"Mr.  Rand  is  our  guest,"  said  Jacqueline,  in  a  clear  voice, 
from  her  place  behind  the  coffee  urn.  Her  hands  made  a 
little  noise  amid  the  rosebud  china.  "Mr.  Cary,  may  I  not 
pour  you  another  cup? — Caleb,  Mr.  Gary's  cup.  —  Bring 
more  waffles,  Scipio." 

"The  work  at  Greenwood  is  nearly  finished,  sir,"  remarked 
Ludwell  Cary,  addressing  his  host.  "I  rode  over  this  after 
noon,  and  the  men  assure  me  that  the  house  will  soon  be 
habitable.  Fair  and  I  have  no  excuse  for  staying  longer." 

"Then    stay   without   excuse,"    answered    Colonel    Dick 


CARY   AND  JACQUELINE  101 

heartily.    "Fontenoy  will  miss  you  —  eh,  Unity,  eh,  Jac 
queline  ? " 

"It  will  indeed,"  said  Jacqueline,  with  a  smile;  and  Unity, 
"Will  I  have  time  to  order  a  black  scarf  from  Baltimore? 
Will  you  leave  us  mourning  rings  ? " 

"If  Miss  Dandridge  would  accept  another  fashion  of 
ring!"  cried  Fairfax  Gary,  and  all  at  table  laughed. 

Scipio  took  away  the  rosebud  china,  and  laid  the  purple 
dessert  service  for  the  strawberries  and  floating  island  and 
Betty  Custis  cake.  Caleb  placed  the  decanters  of  claret  and 
Madeira,  and  the  Fontenoy  men  began  to  talk  of  horse- 
racing,  of  Mustapha,  Nonpareil,  York,  and  Victor. 

Jacqueline  and  Unity,  leaving  the  gentlemen  at  their 
wine,  came  out  into  the  broad  hall  and  stood  at  the  front 
door  looking  out  at  the  coloured  clouds  above  the  hills. 
They  supped  early  at  Fontenoy,  and  the  evening  was  yet 
rosy. 

"He  is  going  to  speak  to-night,"  said  Unity,  with  con 
viction.  "It  is  written  in  his  eye." 

"If  you  mean  Mr.  Cary  — " 

"Whom  else  should  I  mean  ?  What  are  you  going  to  say 
to  him,  Jacqueline  ?  I  want  you  to  say  Yes,  and  I  want  you 
to  say  No." 

"Don't,  Unity  —  " 

"If  you  say  Yes,  you  will  have  Greenwood  and  the  most 
charming  husband  in  the  world,  and  be  envied  of  every  girl 
in  the  county;  and  if  you  say  No,  I  '11  have  you  still  — " 

"I  shall  say  No." 

"What  ails  you,  Jacqueline?  I  could  swear  that  you're 
in  love,  and  yet  I  don't  believe  you  are  in  love  with  Ludweli 
Cary !  —  though  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be.  It 's  not  Mr. 
Lee,  nor  Mr.  Page,  nor  Jack  Martin,  nor  —  you're  never 
in  love  with  Fairfax  Cary  ? " 


102  LEWIS   RAND 

Jacqueline  laughed,  "How  absurd,  Unity!  —  though  may 
be  some  day  I  shall  love  him  as  a  cousin!" 

Unity  regarded  her  with  a  puzzled  gathering  of  black  brows. 
"There's  no  one  else  that  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  I 
can  believe  you  in  love  with  —  unless  it 's  Mr.  Pincornet ! " 

"Oh,  now  you  certainly  have  it!"  cried  Jacqueline,  with 
another  tremulous  laugh.  She  released  herself  from  her 
cousin's  arm.  "I  am  going  to  tell  Deb  good-night.  And 
Unity  —  I  don't  want  Mr.  Gary  to  speak  to-night,  nor  to 
morrow  night,  nor  any  other  night !  I  '11  stay  at  Fontenoy  — 
I  '11  stay  at  Fontenoy  and  care  for  Aunt  Nancy  and  Deb 
and  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward.  I  '11  dance  at  your  wed 
ding,  Unity,  but  you  '11  not  dance  at  mine ! " 

She  was  gone.  Unity  sat  down  upon  the  porch  steps  and 
began  to  name  upon  her  fingers  the  eligible  young  men  of 
three  counties.  In  her  anxiety  to  account  for  Jacqueline's 
pallor  and  the  dark  beneath  her  eyes,  she  went  far  afield, 
but  she  met  with  no  success.  "It's  not  one  of  them!"  she 
sighed  at  last.  "And  yet,  she's  changed  — " 

Jacqueline  went  slowly  upstairs,  a  slender  figure  in  white, 
touching  with  her  hand  the  polished  balustrade.  When  she 
reached  the  long  and  wide  upper  hall,  she  passed  steadily 
along  it,  but  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  a  door  at  the  far  end, 
the  door  of  the  blue  room.  Arrived  in  her  own  cool  and 
fragrant  chamber,  she  found  Deb  already  asleep  in  the  small 
bed,  her  yellow  hair  spread  upon  the  pillow,  her  gown  open 
at  the  throat,  a  rag  doll  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm.  Upon  the 
floor,  with  her  head  against  the  bed,  sat  Miranda,  as  fast 
asleep  as  her  mistress.  At  Jacqueline's  touch  she  awoke, 
smiled  widely,  and  was  on  her  feet  with  a  spring.  "Yaas, 
Miss  Jacqueline,  I  done  put  Miss  Deb  to  bed.  Mammy 
Chloe  say  dat  niggah  Joab  don'  know  nothin'  'bout  er  broken 
ahm,  an'  she  too  busy  in  de  blue  room.  Yaas'm,  I  done 


CARY   AND  JACQUELINE  103 

mek  Miss  Deb  wash  her  face  an'  say  her  prayers.  Kin  I  go 
now?" 

Alone,  Jacqueline  stood  for  a  minute  beside  the  sleeping 
child,  then  bent  and  kissed  Deb's  brown  neck.  Moving 
to  a  window,  she  sat  down  before  it,  resting  her  arm  upon 
the  sill  and  her  head  upon  her  arm.  Outside  the  win 
dow  grew  a  giant  fir  tree,  shading  the  room,  and  giving  it 
at  times  an  aspect  too  cold  and  northern.  But  Jacqueline 
loved  the  tree,  and  loved  and  fed  the  birds  that  in  winter 
perched  upon  the  dark  boughs.  Now,  between  the  needles, 
the  eastern  sky  looked  blue  and  cold.  Jacqueline,  sitting 
idle,  felt  her  eyes  fill  with  slow  tears.  They  did  not  fall. 
She  was  not  lacking  in  self-control,  and  she  told  herself  that 
of  late  she  had  wept  too  often.  She  sat  very  still,  her  head 
bowed  upon  her  listless  arm,  while  the  moments  passed, 
bearing  with  them  pictures  seen  through  unshed  tears. 
She  was  living  over  the  days  of  the  Three-Notched  Road, 
and  she  beheld  each  shifting  scene  by  the  light  of  a  passion 
that  she  believed  to  be  unreasonable,  unnatural,  secret,  and 
without  hope.  Her  uncle's  voice  came  to  her  from  the  hall 
below.  " Jacqueline,  Jacqueline!"  She  arose,  bathed  her 
eyes,  and  went  downstairs. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  family  to  gather  after  supper 
upon  the  great  white  pillared  porch,  and  to  sit  through  the 
twilight.  The  men  smoked  slowly  and  reflectively,  the  women 
sat  with  folded  hands,  watching  the  last  glow  upon  the  hills, 
and  the  brightening  of  the  evening  star;  dreamily  listening 
to  the  choir  of  frogs,  the  faint  tinkle  of  cowbells,  the  bleating 
of  folded  lambs,  and  the  continual  rustle  of  the  poplar  leaves. 

Jacqueline  took  her  seat  beside  Unity.  Colonel  Churchill, 
in  his  especial  chair,  was  smoking  like  a  benevolent  volcano; 
at  a  small  table  Major  Edward  was  playing  Patience.  On 
the  broad  porch  steps  below  Jacqueline  and  Unity  half  sat, 


104  LEWIS   RAND 

half  lay,  the  two  Carys.  The  fireflies  were  beginning  to  show, 
and  out  of  the  distance  came  a  plaintive  Whip-poor-will  — 
Whip-poor-will ! 

"I  shall  have,"  said  Ludwell  Gary,  "the  vines  at  Green 
wood  trained  like  these.  There  could  be  no  better  way." 

"  Is  the  drawing-room  finished  ? "  asked  Unity. 

"Almost  finished.  The  paper  came  to-day  from  Balti 
more.  The  ground  is  silver,  and  there  are  garlands  of  roses 
and  a  host  of  piping  shepherds." 

"Oh,  lovely!"  cried  Unity.    "But  no  shepherdesses?" 

"Yes,  in  among  the  roses.  It  is  quite  Arcadian.  When 
will  the  princesses  come  to  see  the  shepherdesses  ? " 

He  looked  at  them  both.  "The  Princess  and  her  waiting- 
maid,"  said  Unity  demurely,  "will  come  very  soon."  She 
rose  from  the  green  bench.  "The  waiting-maid  is  going  now 
to  her  harpsichord ! "  Her  eyes  rested  upon  the  younger 
Gary.  "Will  you  be  so  very  good  as  to  turn  the  leaves  for 
me?" 

Fairfax  Gary  embracing  with  alacrity  the  chance  of  good 
ness,  the  two  went  into  the  house.  The  dusk  deepened;  the 
odour  of  honeysuckle  and  syringa  grew  heavier,  and  white 
moths  sailed  by  on  their  way  to  the  lighted  windows. 

"Since  love  —  since  love  is  blissful  sorrow, 
Then  bid  the  lad  —  then  bid  the  lad  — 
Then  bid  the  lad  a  fair  good  morrow!" 

flowed  in  soprano  from  the  parlour. 

Colonel  Churchill  laid  down  his  pipe  and  lifted  his  burly 
figure  from  the  great  chair.  "I  forgot,"  he  remarked  to 
Jacqueline,  "to  tell  your  Aunt  Nancy  that  Charles  Carter 
is  going  to  marry  Miss  Lewis,"  and  he  left  the  porch. 
The  rose  in  the  sky  turned  to  pearl,  the  fireflies  grew  brilliant, 
and  the  wind  brought  the  murmur  of  streams  and  the  louder 
rustling  of  the  poplar  leaves.  "  It  is  too  dark  to  see  the  cards," 


CARY  AND   JACQUELINE  105 

said  Major  Edward.  "I'll  go  read  what  the  Gazette  has  to 
say  of  Burr  and  the  Massachusetts  secession  fools.  Don't 
move,  Gary!"  He  deftly  gathered  up  the  cards,  and  went 
indoors. 

"When  I  was  green  in  years,  and  every  month  was  May"  — 
sang  Unity. 

"With  Phyllis  and  with  Chloe  made  I  holiday!" 

"  It  is  dark  night,"  said  Jacqueline.   "  Shall  we  not  go  in  ? " 

Gary  put  out  an  appealing  hand.  "Don't  rise!  May  we 
not  stay  like  this  a  little  longer  ?  —  Miss  Churchill,  there  is 
something  that  I  ardently  wish  to  say  to  you." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Gary?" 

"It  is  too  soon  to  speak,  I  know,  —  it  must  seem  too  soon 
to  you.  But  to-day  I  said,  'The  spring  is  flying  —  I  '11  put  my 
fortune  to  the  touch ! '  I  think  that  you  must  guess  the  thing 
I  wish  to  say  —  " 

"Yes,  I  know.    I  wish  that  you  would  leave  it  unsaid." 

"I  love  you.  On  the  day,  three  months  ago,  when  I  saw 
you  after  my  return  and  found  the  lovely  child  I  remembered 
changed  into  the  loveliest  of  all  women,  I  loved  you.  If  then, 
what  now,  when  I  have  seen  you,  day  by  day  ?  —  I  love 
you,  and  I  shall  never  cease  to  love  you." 

"Oh,  with  all  my  heart  I  wish  that  you  did  not!" 

"I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  beg  you  to  let  me  prove 
throughout  my  life  the  depth  of  my  love,  of  my  solicitude  for 
your  happiness — " 

"Ah,  happiness!"  cried  Jacqueline  sharply.  "I  do  not 
see  it  in  my  life.  The  best  that  you  can  do  is  to  forget 
me  quite." 

"I  will  remember  you  when  I  draw  my  dying  breath. 
And  if  we  remember  after  death,  I  will  remember  you  then. 
With  all  my  strength  I  love  you." 


106  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  am  sorry  —  I  am  sorry!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I  hoped 
't  was  but  a  fancy,  and  that  you  would  not  speak !  I  do  not 
love  you  — " 

"Let  me  wait,"  said  Gary,  after  a  pause.  "I  said  that  I 
was  speaking  too  soon.  Let  me  wait  —  let  me  prove  to  you. 
Your  heart  may  turn." 

She  shook  her  head.    "It  will  not  change." 

"Is  there,"  asked  Gary,  in  a  low  voice,  "is  there  another 
before  me  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  strangely.  "You  have  no  right  to  ques 
tion  me.  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  ever  marry.  For  you, 
you  will  live  long  and  be  happy.  You  deserve  happiness. 
If  I  have  wounded  you,  may  it  soon  heal !  Forget  this  night, 
and  me." 

"Forget!"  said  Gary.  "I  am  not  so  lightly  made!  But 
neither  will  I  despair.  I  will  wait.  If  there  is  no  man  before 
me,  I  will  win  you  yet!  There  is  little  reason,  God  knows, 
why  you  should  care  for  me,  but  I  shall  strive  to  make 
that  reason  greater!" 

"There  is  reason,"  answered  Jacqueline.  "I  think  highly, 
highly  of  you!  You  would  make  a  woman  happy;  —  all 
her  life  she  would  travel  a  sunny  road !  I  prize  your  friend 
ship  —  I  am  loth  to  lose  it.  But  as  for  me,"  —  she  locked  her 
hands  against  her  breast,  — "  there  is  that  within  me  that 
cries,  The  shadowed  road! —  the  shadowed  road!" 

She  rose,  and  Gary  rose  with  her.  "Forgive  me,"  she 
said.  "Is  it  not  cruel  that  we  hurt  each  other  so  ?  Forgive 
—  forget." 

"I  would  forgive  you,"  he  answered,  with  emotion,  "the 
suffering  and  the  sorrow  of  a  thousand  lives.  But  forget 
you  —  never !  I  '11  love  you  well  and  I  '11  love  you  long.  Nor 
will  I  despair.  To-night  is  dark,  but  the  sun  may  shine  to 
morrow.  Think  of  me  as  of  one  who  will  love  you  to  the  end." 


CARY  AND  JACQUELINE  107 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  then  stood  aside,  saying, 
"I  will  not  face  the  lights  quite  yet."  She  passed  into  the 
hall  and  up  the  stairway,  and  he  turned  and  went  down 
the  porch  steps  into  the  May  night. 


CHAPTER  IX 

EXPOSTULATION 

THE  next  morning  Ludwell  Gary  rose  early,  ordered 
his  horse,  and  opened  the  door  of  his  brother's  room. 
"Fair,"  he  said,  as  the  younger  Gary  sat  up  in 
bed,  with  a  nightcap  wonderfully  askew  upon  his  handsome 
head,  "I  am  off  for  Greenwood.  Make  my  excuses,  will 
you,  to  Colonel  Churchill  and  the  ladies  ?  I  will  not  be  back 
till  supper-time."  He  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "And  Fair 
—  if  you  have  anything  to  say  to  Miss  Dandridge,  this  is 
the  shepherd's  hour.  We  go  home  to-morrow." 

"What  the  Devil  ?"    -  began  the  younger  Cary. 

"No,  not  the  Devil,"  said  the  other,  with  a  twist  of  the  lip 
half  humorous,  half  piteous.  "Just  woman." 

He  was  gone.  Fairfax  Cary  looked  at  his  watch,  then  rose 
from  his  bed  and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  rose  and 
dew  of  the  dawn.  "What  the  Devil ! "  he  said  again  to  him 
self;  and  then,  with  a  forehead  of  perplexity,  "He  was  up 
late  last  night  —  out  in  the  garden  alone.  He  rides  off  to 
Greenwood  with  the  dawn,  and  we  go  home  to-morrow. 
She  can't  have  refused  him  —  that's  not  possible!"  He 
went  back  to  bed  to  study  matters  over.  At  last,  "The 
jade!"  he  exclaimed  with  conviction,  and  two  hours  later, 
when  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  wished  Miss  Churchill 
good-morning  with  glacial  courtesy. 

Jacqueline,  behind  the  coffee  urn,  had  heavy-lidded  eyes, 
and  her  smile  was  tremulous.  Unity,  brilliant  and  watchful, 
regarded  the  universe  and  the  hauteur  of  young  Mr.  Cary 
with  lifted  brows.  Major  Churchill,  when  he  appeared, 


EXPOSTULATION  109 

shot  one  glance  at  the  place  that  was  Ludwell  Gary's,  an 
other  at  his  niece,  then  sat  heavily  down,  and  in  a  querulous 
voice  demanded  coffee.  Colonel  Dick  wore  a  frown.  Deb, 
who  before  breakfast  had  visited  a  new  foal  in  the  long  pas 
ture,  kept  for  a  time  the  ball  of  conversation  rolling;  but  the 
dulness  and  the  chill  in  the  air  presently  enwrapped  her 
also.  The  meal  came  to  an  end  with  only  one  hazard  as  to 
what  could  have  taken  Ludwell  Gary  to  Greenwood  for  the 
entire  day.  That  was  Unity's,  who  remarked  that  pains 
must  be  bestowed  upon  the  hanging  of  a  drawing-room 
paper,  else  the  shepherds  and  the  shepherdesses  would  not 
match. 

Fairfax  Gary  asked  after  Lewis  Rand  and  his  broken  arm, 
and  Colonel  Dick  responded  with  absent-mindedness  that 
the  arm  did  very  well,  and  that  its  owner  would  soon  be  going 
about  his  business  with  all  the  rest  of  the  damned  Repub 
lican  mischief-makers :  then,  "Scipio,  did  you  take  that  julep 
and  bird  up  to  the  blue  room  ?" 

"Yaas,  marster,"  answered  Scipio.  "The  gent'man  say 
tell  you  *  Thank  you/  He  say  he  ain't  gwine  trouble  you 
much  longer,  an'  he  cyarn  never  forgit  what  Fontenoy's 
done  fer  him." 

"Deb!"  said  Uncle  Edward,  with  great  sharpness,  "you 
are  spilling  that  cup  of  milk.  Look  what  you  are  doing, 
child!" 

The  uncomfortable  meal  came  to  an  end.  Outside  the 
dining-room  door  Uncle  Dick  mentioned  to  Unity  that  her 
aunt  wanted  her  in  the  chamber  to  cut  off  linsey  gowns  for 
the  house  servants,  and  Uncle  Edward  inquired  if  it  would 
be  troublesome  to  Fairfax  Cary  to  ride  over  to  Tom  Wood's 
and  take  a  look  at  that  black  stallion  Tom  bragged  of.  Unity 
went  to  her  aunt's  chamber;  the  younger  Cary  walked  away 
somewhat  stiffly  to  the  stables;  Uncle  Edward  sent  Deb  to 


no  LEWIS   RAND 

her  lessons,  and  Uncle  Dick  told  Jacqueline  to  come  in  half 
an  hour  to  the  library.  Edward  and  he  wanted  to  speak  to 
her. 

Jacqueline  gave  her  directions,  or  her  aunt's  directions, 
to  Scipio,  then  crossed  the  paved  way  to  the  kitchen  and 
talked  of  dinner  and  supper  with  the  turbaned  cook;  opened 
with  her  keys  the  smokehouse  door,  and  in  the  storeroom 
superintended  the  weighing  of  flour  and  sugar  and  the 
measuring  of  Java  coffee,  and  finally  saw  that  the  drawing- 
room  was  properly  darkened  against  the  sunny  morning,  and 
that  the  water  was  fresh  in  the  bowls  of  flowers.  She  leaned 
for  a  moment  against  her  harp,  one  hand  upon  its  strings, 
her  forehead  resting  upon  her  bare  arm ;  then  she  turned  from 
the  room  and  entered  the  library,  where  she  found  her  uncles 
waiting  for  her,  Uncle  Dick  upon  the  hearth  rug  and  Uncle 
Edward  at  the  table. 

" Jacqueline,"  began  the  first,  then,  "Edward,  I  never 
could  talk  to  a  woman !  Ask  her  what  all  this  damned  non 
sense  means!" 

"Your  uncle  does  n't  mean  that  it  is  all  damned  non 
sense,  Jacqueline,"  said  Uncle  Edward,  with  gentleness. 
"Not  perhaps  from  your  point  of  view,  my  dear.  But  both 
he  and  I  are  greatly  grieved  and  disappointed — " 

"It  was  all  arranged  ages  ago ! "  broke  in  the  elder  brother. 
"Fauquier  Gary  and  your  dear  father,  my  brother  Henry, 
settled  it  when  you  were  born  and  Fauquier's  son  was  a  lad 
at  Maury's  school!  When  Henry  died,  and  Fauquier  Gary 
died,  my  brother  Edward  here  and  I  said  to  each  other  that 
we  would  see  the  matter  out !  So  we  will,  by  God ! " 

"Gently,  Dick!  Jacqueline,  child,  you  know  how  dear  you 
are  to  us,  and  how  the  future  and  the  happiness  of  you  and 
of  Unity  and  of  Deb  is  our  jealous  care — " 

"Fauquier  Gary  was  as  noble  a  man  as  ever  breathed," 


EXPOSTULATION  1 1 1 

cried  the  other,  "and  his  son's  his  image!  There's  no  better 
blood  in  Virginia  —  and  the  land  beside — " 

"It  does  not  matter  about  the  land,  Jacqueline,"  said 
Uncle  Edward,  "though  God  forbid  that  I  should  depre 
ciate  good  land — " 

"Land's  land,"  quoth  Colonel  Dick,  "and  good  blood's 
gospel  truth ! " 

"  Bah !  it's  nature's  truth  ! "  said  Uncle  Edward.  "  Jacque 
line,  my  dear,  our  hearts  are  set  on  this  match.  Mr.  Ludwell 
Gary  asked  your  uncle's  permission  to  speak  to  you,  and  your 
uncle  gave  it  gladly,  and  neither  he  nor  I  ever  dreamed  — " 

"Of  course  we  did  n't,"  broke  in  the  other.  "We  did  n't 
dream  that  Jacqueline  could  be  unreasonable  or  ungrateful, 
and  we  don't  dream  it  now!  Nor  blind.  Ludwell  Gary's 
a  man  and  a  gentleman,  and  the  woman  who  gets  him  is 
lucky!" 

"We  approved  his  suit,  Jacqueline,  and  we  hoped  to  be 
happy  to-day  in  your  happiness — " 

"And  in  he  comes  at  midnight  last  night,  with  his  father's 
own  look  on  his  face,  and  what  does  he  say  to  Edward  and  me, 
sitting  here,  waiting,  with  a  thousand  fancies  in  our  heads  ? 
'Miss  Churchill  will  not  have  me,'  says  he,  'and  you  who 
have  been  so  good  to  me,  are  to  be  good  still,  and  not  by 
word  or  look  reproach  her  or  distress  her.  The  heart  goes 
its  own  way,  and  loves  where  it  must.  She  is  an  angel,  and 
to-night  I  am  a  poor  beaten  and  weary  mortal.  I  thank 
you  again,  both  of  you,  and  wish  you  good-night.'  And  off 
he  goes  before  a  man  could  say  Jack  Robinson !  Those  were 
his  very  words,  were  n't  they,  Edward  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Edward.  "He  is  a  brave  and  gallant 
gentleman,  Jacqueline.  I  love  you,  child,  more  than  my  old 
tongue  can  say.  My  Castle  in  Spain  is  Greenwood  with  you 
and  Ludwell  Gary  and  the  children  of  you  both." 


112  LEWIS   RAND 

"Oh,  cruel!"  cried  Jacqueline.  "He  is  brave  and  good  — 
He  is  all  that  you  say.  But  I  shall  never  live  at  Greenwood ! " 

"It  was  your  father's  dearest  wish,"  said  the  Major.  "It 
is  ours  —  Richard's  and  mine.  We  are  not  men  who  give 
up  easily.  God  forbid,  child,  that  I  should  hint  to  you,  who 
are  the  darling  of  us  all,  of  obligation  —  and  yet  I  put  it 
to  you  if  obedience  is  not  owed — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Jacqueline.  "It  is  owed.  I  am 
not  ungrateful  —  I  am  mad  —  perhaps  I  am  wicked !  I 
wish  that  I  were  dead!" 

"The  Churchills,"  said  Uncle  Edward,  "have  never  in 
their  marriages  set  vulgar  store  by  money.  Blood  we  ask, 
of  course,  and  honourable  position,  and  the  right  way  of 
thinking.  Individually  I  am  a  stickler  for  mind.  To  his 
wealth  and  to  his  name  and  his  great  personal  advantages 
Ludwell  Gary  adds  intellect.  He  may  become  a  power 
in  his  country  and  his  time.  You  would  so  aid  him,  child ! 
I  am  called  a  woman-hater,  but  once,  Jacqueline,  I  loved 
too  well.  For  all  that  I  am  a  sorry  old  bachelor,  I  know 
whereof  I  speak.  With  a  man,  a  woman  to  fight  for  is  not 
half  the  battle  —  it  is  all  the  battle." 

"He  is  all  that  you  say,"  answered  Jacqueline.  "But  I 
do  not  love  him." 

"You  like  him.    You  admire  him." 

"Yes,  yes.    That  is  not  love." 

"It  is  mighty  near  kin,"  said  Uncle  Dick.  "No  end  of 
happy  folk  begin  with  esteem  and  go  on  like  turtle  doves. 
My  little  Jack,  you  shall  have  the  prettiest  wedding  gown! 
It's  all  a  mistake  and  a  misunderstanding,  and  the  good  Lord 
knows  there 's  too  much  of  both  in  this  old  world !  You  '11 
think  better  of  it  all,  and  you  '11  find  that  you  did  n't  know 
your  own  mind,  —  and  there  '11  be  a  smile  for  poor  Gary 
when  he  comes  riding  back  to-night  ? " 


EXPOSTULATION  113 

"No,  no,"  cried  Jacqueline.  "There  is  no  mistake  and 
no  misunderstanding.  Love  cannot  be  forced,  and  I'll  not 
marry  where  I  do  not  love!" 

"You  don't,"  said  Colonel  Churchill  slowly,  "you  don't 
by  any  chance  love  some  one  else  ?  What  does  that  colour 
mean,  Jacqueline?  Don't  stammer!  Speak  out!" 

But  Jacqueline,  standing  by  the  old  leather  chair,  bowed 
her  head  upon  its  high  green  back,  and  neither  could  nor 
would  "speak  out."  The  two  men,  grey  and  withered,  ob 
stinate  and  imperious  in  a  day  and  generation  that  subor 
dinated  youth  to  the  councils  of  the  old,  gazed  at  their  niece 
with  perplexity  and  anger.  With  the  simpler  of  the  two  the 
perplexity  was  the  greater,  with  the  other  anger.  A  fear  was 
knocking  at  Major  Churchill's  heart.  He  would  not  admit 
it,  strove  not  to  listen  to  it,  or  to  listen  with  contemptuous 
incredulity.  "It's  not  possible,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Not 
a  thousand  summers  at  Jane  Selden's  would  make  her  so 
forget  herself!  Jacqueline  in  love  with  that  damned  Jacobin 
demagogue  upstairs !  Pshaw ! "  But  the  fear  knocked  on. 

Jacqueline  lifted  her  head.  "Be  good  to  me,  Uncle  Dick! 
If  I  could  love,  if  I  could  marry  Mr.  Cary,  I  would  —  I 
would  indeed  !  But  I  cannot.  Please  let  me  go ! " 

"Not  till  I  know  more  than  I  know  now,"  said  Colonel 
Churchill.  "If  it's  George  Lee,  Jacqueline,  I'll  not  say  a 
word,  sorry  as  I  am  for  Cary.  But  if  it 's  Will  Allen,  I  '11 
see  you  dead  before  I  give  my  consent!  He's  a  spendthrift 
and  a  Republican!" 

"I  care  neither  for  Mr.  Lee  nor  Mr.  Allen,"  said  Jacque 
line,  with  a  burning  cheek.  "Oh,  Uncle  Edward,  make 
Uncle  Dick  let  me  go!" 

"It  is  not  wise,"  Major  Churchill  considered  within  him 
self,  "to  push  a  woman  too  far.  I'm  a  suspicious  fool  to 
think  this  thing  of  Jacqueline.  It 's  all  some  girl's  fancy  or 


\ 
114  LEWIS   RAND 

other,  and  if  we  go  easily  Gary  will  yet  win  —  by  God,  he 
shall  win !  This  damned  Yahoo  upstairs  is  neither  here  nor 
there!" 

He  spoke  aloud  to  his  brother.  "Best  let  the  child  go 
think  it  'over,  Dick.  She  knows  her  duty  —  and  that  we 
expect  her  compliance.  She  does  n't  want  to  wound  us 
cruelly,  to  make  us  unhappy,  to  prove  herself  blind  and  in- 
grate.  Give  her  a  kiss  and  let  her  go." 

"You  come  down  and  sing  to  us  to-night,  my  little  Jack, 
in  your  blue  gown,"  quoth  Uncle  Dick.  "Don't  you  ever 
let  a  time  come  when  your  singing  won't  be  the  sweetest 
sound  in  the  world  to  me !  Now  go,  and  think  of  what  we 
have  said,  and  of  poor  Gary,  ridden  off  to  Greenwood  ! " 

Jacqueline  gazed  at  the  two  for  a  moment,  and  made  as 
if  to  speak,  but  the  words  died  in  her  throat.  She  uttered 
a  broken  cry,  turned,  groped  a  Iktle  for  the  door,  found 
and  opened  it,  and  was  gone.  They  heard  the  click  of  her 
slippers  upon  the  stairs,  and  presently  the  closing  of  a  blind 
in  the  room  that  was  hers. 

The  brothers  sat  heavily  on  in  the  sunshine-flooded  li 
brary,  the  elder  red  and  fuming,  the  younger  silent  and 
saturnine.  At  last  Colonel  Dick  broke  out,  "What  the  devil 
ails  her,  Edward  ?  Every  decent  young  fellow  in  the  county 
comes  to  Fontenoy  straight  as  a  bee  to  the  honey-pot !  I  Ve 
heard  them  sighing  for  her  and  Unity,  but  I  never  could  see 
that  she  favoured  one  man  more  than  another, —  and  she's 
no  coquette  like  Unity !  Except  for  that  fine  blush  of  hers, 
I'd  never  have  thought.  What  do  you  think,  Edward  ?" 

"The  ways  of  women  are  past  my  finding  out,"  said  Ed 
ward.  "  Let  it  rest  for  a  while,  Dick."  He  rose  from  his  chair 
stiffly,  like  an  old  man.  "Let  Gary  go  home  to-morrow  as 
he  intends.  'Absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder,'  they 
say.  She  may  find  that  she  misses  him,  and  may  look  for 


EXPOSTULATION  115 

him  when  he  comes  riding  over.  Never  fear  but  he'll  ride 
over  often !  He  must  n't  guess,  of  course,  that  you  have 
spoken  to  her.  And  that's  all  we  can  do,  Dick,  except — " 
Major  Edward  walked  stiffly  across  the  floor  and  paused  be 
fore  the  portrait  of  his  brother  Henry,  dead  and  gone  these 
many  years.  The  face  looked  imperiously  down  upon  him. 
Henry  had  stood  for  something  before  he  died,  —  for  grace 
and  manly  beauty,  pride  and  fire.  The  Major's  eyes  suddenly 
smarted.  "Poor  white  trash,"  he  said  between  his  teeth, 
"and  Henry's  daughter!"  He  turned  and  came  back  to  the 
table.  "Dick!  just  as  soon  as  you  can,  you  clear  the  house 
of  old  Gideon  Rand's  son ! " 

"What's  he  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked  Colonel  Dick. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  other.  "But  I  want  him  out 
of  the  blue  room,  and  out  of  Fontenoy !  and  now,  Dick,  I  've 
got  a  piece  to  write  this  morning  on  the  designs  of  Aaron 
Burr." 

At  five  in  the  afternoon  Gary  returned,  quiet  and  hand 
some,  ready  with  his  account  of  matters  at  Greenwood,  from 
the  stable,  upon  which  Major  Churchill  must  pronounce,  to 
the  drawing-room  paper,  which  awaited  Miss  Dandridge's 
sentence.  His  behaviour  was  perfection,  but  "He's  hard 
hit,"  said  his  brother  to  himself.  "What,  pray,  would  Miss 
Churchill  have?"  And  Unity,  "The  shepherds  and  shep 
herdesses  don't  match.  How  can  she  have  the  heart  ? "  And 
Major  Churchill,  "Are  women  blind  ?  This  is  Hyperion  to 
a  satyr."  And  Jacqueline,  "Oh,  miserable  me!  Is  he  writ 
ing  or  reading,  or  is  he  lying  thinking,  there  in  the  blue 
room  ? " 


CHAPTER  X 

TO     ALTHEA 

ADAM  GAUDYLOCK  came,  when  his  leisure  served 
him,  to  Fontenoy  as  he  went  everywhere,  by  virtue 
of  his  quality  of  free  lance  and  golden-tongued  nar 
rator  of  western  news.  The  stress  of  thought  at  the  moment 
was  to  the  West  and  the  empire  that  had  been  purchased 
there;  and  a  man  from  beyond  Kentucky,  with  tales  to  tell 
of  the  Mississippi  Territory,  brought  his  own  welcome  to  town, 
tavern,  and  plantation.  If  this  were  true  of  all,  it  was  trebly  true 
of  Adam,  who  had  been  born  open-eyed.  As  the  magnet  draws 
the  filings,  so  he  drew  all  manner  of  tidings.  News  came  to 
him  as  by  a  thousand  carrier  pigeons.  He  took  toll  of  the  soli 
tary  in  the  brown  and  pathless  woods,  of  the  boatmen  upon 
fifty  rivers,  of  the  Indian  braves  about  the  council-fire,  of  hunt 
ers,  trappers,  traders,  and  long  lines  of  Conestoga  wagons,  of 
soldiers  on  frontier  posts,  Jesuit  missionaries  upon  the  Ohio, 
camp-meeting  orators  by  the  Kentucky  and  the  upper  James, 
martial  emissaries  of  three  governments,  village  lawyers, 
gamblers,  dealers  in  lotteries,  and  militia  colonels,  Spanish 
intendants,  French  agents,  American  settlers,  wild  Irish, 
thrifty  Germans,  Creoles,  Indians,  Mestizos,  Quadroons, 
Congo  blacks,  —  from  the  hunter  in  the  forest  to  the  slave  in 
the  fields,  and  from  the  Governor  of  the  vast  new  territory 
to  the  boatman  upon  a  Mississippi  ark,  not  a  type  of  the 
restless  time  but  imparted  to  Adam  something  of  its  view  of 
life  and  of  the  winds  that  vexed  its  sea.  He  was  a  skilful 
compounder,  and  when,  forever  wandering,  he  wandered 
back  by  wood  and  stream  to  the  sunny,  settled  lands  east 


TO   ALTHEA  117 

of  the  Blue  Ridge,  he  gave  to  the  thirsty  in  plantation  and 
town  bright  globules  of  hard  fact  in  a  heady  elixir  of  fancy. 
While  he  talked  all  men  were  adventurers,  and  all  women 
admired  him.  Adam  liked  this  life  and  this  world;  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  journey  through  a  hundred  such. 

Now,  sitting  at  his  ease  in  the  blue  room,  a  fortnight  after 
Rand's  accident,  he  delivered  a  score  of  messages  from  the 
Republicans  of  the  county,  gentle  and  simple,  whom  he 
had  chanced  to  encounter  since  the  accident  to  their  repre 
sentative. 

"Colonel  Randolph  says  the  President  has  bad  luck  with 
the  horses  he  gives  —  young  Mr.  Carr  was  thrown  by  a  bay 
mare  from  Shadwell.  Old  Jowett  swears  that  a  trooper 
of  Tarleton's  broke  his  neck  at  that  identical  place  —  says 
you  can  hear  him  any  dark  night  swearing  like  the  Hessian 
he  was.  They  drank  your  health  at  the  Eagle,  the  night 
they  heard  of  the  accident,  with  bumpers  —  drank  it  just 
after  Mr.  Jefferson's  and  before  the  memory  of  Washington. 
'  Congress  next ! '  they  said.  '  Hurrah !  He  '11  scatter  the  Black 
Cockades  —  he'll  make  the  Well-born  cry  King's  Cruse! 
Hip,  hip,  hurrah!  What's  he  doing  at  Fontenoy  ?  They'll 
put  poison  in  his  cup !  Hurrah  ! ' ' 

"Fontenoy  will  not  put  poison  in  my  cup,"  said  Rand. 
"I  hope  some  one  was  there  to  say  as  much." 

"I  said  it,"  answered  Adam.  "They  are  a  noisy  lot. 
Tom  Mocket  made  a  speech  and  compared  you  to  Moses.  He 
wept  when  he  made  it,  and  they  had  to  hold  him  steady  on 
his  feet.  When  they  broke  up,  I  took  him  home  to  the  Par 
tridge.  I  '11  tell  you  one  speech  that  he  never  made  by  him 
self,  and  that's  the  speech  that's  going  to  hang  Fitch." 

"No,"  said  Rand.    "I  wrote  it.   You  were  at  the  trial?" 

"Ay.  It  would  have  hung  Abel,  so  poor  Cain  had  no 
chance.  Mr.  Eppes  says  Mr.  Jefferson  counts  upon  your 


ii8  LEWIS   RAND 

becoming  a  power  in  the  state.  I  don't  know  —  but  it  seems 
to  me  there's  power  enough  in  these  regions!  It's  getting 
crowded.  First  thing  you  know,  you'll  be  jealous  of  Mr. 
Jefferson,  or  he  '11  be  jealous  of  you.  If  I  were  you,  I  'd  look 
to  the  West." 

"The  old  song!"  exclaimed  Rand.  "What  should  I  do 
in  the  West?" 

"Rule  it,"  said  Adam. 

Rand  shot  a  glance  at  the  hunter  where  he  lounged  against 
the  window,  a  figure  straight  and  lithe  as  an  Indian,  not  tall, 
but  gifted  with  a  pantherish  grace,  and  breathing  a  certain 
tawny  brightness  as  of  sunshine  through  pine  needles. 
"You're  daft!"  he  said;  then  after  a  moment,  "Are  you 
serious  ? " 

"Why  should  I  not  be  serious  ? "  asked  Adam.  "My  faith ! 
it's  a  restless  land,  the  West,  and  it's  a  far  cry  from  the 
Mississippi  to  the  Potomac.  The  West  does  n't  like  the  East 
anyhow.  But  it  wants  a  picked  man  from  the  East.  It  will 
get  one  too !  The  wind 's  blowing  hard  from  the  full  to  the 
empty,  from  the  parcelled-out  to  the  virgin  land ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Rand. 

"Why  shouldn't  you  be  the  man?"  demanded  Gaudy- 
lock.  "  Just  as  well  you  as  Claiborne  —  Wilkinson 's  naught, 
I  don't  count  him  —  or  any  one  still  East,  like  —  like  — 
Aaron  Burr." 

"Aaron  Burr?" 

"Well,  I  just  instance  him.  He's  ambitious  enough, 
and  there  does  n't  seem  much  room  for  him  back  here. 
If  Adam  Gaudylock  was  ambitious  and  was  anything  but 
just  an  uneducated  hunter  with  a  taste  for  danger  —  I  tell 
you,  Lewis,  I  can  see  the  blazed  trees,  I  can  see  them  with 
my  eyes  shut,  stretching  clean  from  anywhere — stretching 
from  this  room,  say  —  beyond  the  Ohio,  and  beyond  the 


TO   ALTHEA  119 

Mississippi,  and  beyond  Mexico  to  where  the  sun  strikes  the 
water!  It's  a  trail  for  fine  treading  and  a  strong  man,  but 
it  leads  —  it  leads  —  " 

"It  might  lead,"  said  Rand,  "to  the  Tarpeian  Rock." 

"Where's  that?" 

"It's  where  they  put  to  death  a  sort  of  folk  called  traitors 
—  Benedict  Arnolds  and  such." 

"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  Adam.  "Traitors!  Benedict  Arnold 
was  a  traitor.  This  is  not  like  that.  America 's  large  enough  for 
a  mort  of  countries.  All  the  states  are  countries  —  federated 
countries.  Say  some  man  is  big  enough  to  make  a  country 
west  of  the  Mississippi  —  Well,  one  day  we  may  federate 
too.  Eh,  Lewis,  'twould  be  a  powerful  country  —  great  as 
Rome,  I  reckon !  And  we  'd  smoke  the  calumet  with  old 
Virginia  —  and  she'd  rule  East  and  we'd  rule  West.  D'you 
think  it 's  a  dream  ?  —  Well,  men  make  dreams  come 


true." 


"Yes:  Corsicans,"  answered  Rand.  "Aaron  Burr  is  not  a 
Corsican."  He  looked  at  his  left  hand,  lying  upon  the  arm  of 
his  chair,  raised  it,  shut  and  opened  it,  gazing  curiously  at 
its  vein  and  sinew.  "You  are  talking  midsummer  madness," 
he  said  at  last.  "Let's  leave  the  blazed  trees  for  a  while  — 
though  we  '11  talk  of  them  again  some  time.  Have  you  been 
along  the  Three-Notched  Road  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Adam,  turning  easily.  "Your  tobacco's 
prime,  the  wheat,  too,  and  the  fencing  is  all  mended  and  white 
washed.  It's  not  the  tumble-down  place  it  was  in  Gideon's 
time  —  you  've  done  wonders  with  it.  The  morning-glories 
were  blooming  over  the  porch,  and  your  white  cat  washing 
itself  in  the  sun." 

"It's  but  a  poor  home,"  said  Rand,  and  he  said  it  wist 
fully.  He  wished  for  a  splendid  house,  a  home  so  splendid 
that  any  woman  must  love  it. 


120  LEWIS   RAND 

"It's  not  so  fine  as  Fontenoy,"  quoth  Adam,  "nor  Monti- 
cello,  nor  Mr.  Blennerhasset's  island  in  the  Ohio,  but  a  man 
might  be  happy  in  a  poorer  spot.  Home's  home,  as  I  can 
testify  who  have  n't  any.  I  've  known  a  Cherokee  to  die 
of  homesickness  for  a  skin  stretched  between  two  saplings. 
How  long  before  you  are  back  upon  the  Three-Notched 
Road  ? " 

Rand  moved  restlessly.  "The  doctor  says  I  may  go  down 
stairs  to-day.  I  shall  leave  Fontenoy  almost  immediately. 
They  cannot  want  me  here." 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary?" 

"He  and  his  brother  left  Fontenoy  some  time  ago.  But 
he  rides  over  nearly  every  day.  Usually  I  see  him." 

"He  is  making  a  fine  place  of  Greenwood.  And  he  has 
taken  a  law  office  in  Charlottesville  —  the  brick  house  by 
the  Swan." 

"Yes.    He  told  me  he  would  not  be  idle." 

Adam  rose,  and  took  up  the  gun  which  it  was  his  whim  to 
carry.  "I'll  go  talk  ginseng  and  maple  sugar  to  Colonel 
Churchill  for  a  bit,  and  then  I  '11  go  back  to  the  Eagle.  As 
soon  as  you  are  on  the  Three-Notched  Road  again  I  '11  come 
to  see  you  there." 

"Adam,"  said  Rand,  "in  the  woods,  when  chance  makes 
an  Indian  your  host,  an  Indian  of  a  hostile  tribe,  an  Indian 
whom  you  know  the  next  week  may  see  upon  the  war-path 
against  you  —  and  there  is  in  his  lodge  a  thing,  no  matter 
what,  that  you  desire  with  all  your  mind  and  all  your  heart 
and  all  your  soul,  and  he  will  not  barter  with  you,  and  the  thing 
is  not  entirely  his  own  nor  highly  valued  by  him,  while  it  is 
more  than  life  to  you,  and  moreover  you  believe  it  to  be 
sought  by  one  who  is  your  foe  —  would  you,  Adam,  having 
eaten  that  Indian's  bread,  go  back  into  the  forest,  and  leave 
behind,  untouched,  unspoken  of,  that  precious  thing  your 


TO   ALTHEA  121 

soul  longed  for  ?  The  trail  you  take  may  never  lead  again 
to  that  lodge.  Would  you  leave  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Adam.  "But  my  trail  should  lead  that 
way  again.  "It  is  a  hostile  tribe.  I  would  come  back,  not  in 
peace  paint,  but  in  war  paint.  I  would  fairly  warn  the  Indian, 
and  then  I  would  take  the  bauble." 

"Here  is  Mammy  Chloe,"  said  the  other.  "What  have 
you  there,  mammy  —  a  dish  of  red  pottage  ? " 

"No,  sah,"  said  Mammy.  "Hit's  a  baked  apple  an' 
whipped  cream  an'  nutmeg.  Ole  Miss  she  say  Gineral  La 
fayette  sho'  did  favour  baked  apples  wunst  when  he  wuz 
laid  up  wid  a  cold  at  her  father's  house  in  Williamsburgh. 
An'  de  little  posy,  Miss  Deb  she  done  gather  hit  outer  her 
square  in  de  gyarden.  De  Cun'l  he  say  de  fambly  gwine 
expect  de  honour  of  yo'  company  dis  evenin'  in  de  drawin'- 


room." 


Adam  said  good-bye  and  went  away.  An  hour  later,  go 
ing  down  the  Fontenoy  road,  he  came  upon  a  small  brown 
figure,  seated,  hands  over  knees,  among  the  blackberry  bushes. 

"Why,  you  partridge!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  little  brown 
prairie-hen,  what  are  you  doing  so  far  from  home  ?  Black 
berries  are  n't  ripe." 

"No,"  said  Vinie.  "I  was  just  a-walking  down  the  road, 
and  I  just  walked  on.  I  was  n't  tired.  I  always  think  the 
country 's  prettier  down  this  way.  Did  you  come  from  Fon 
tenoy,  Mr.  Adam  ?" 

"Yes," replied  Adam,  sitting  down  beside  her.  "  I  went  to 
see  Lewis  Rand  —  not  that  I  don't  like  all  the  people  there 
anyway.  They're  always  mighty  nice  to  me." 

Vinie  dug  the  point  of  her  dusty  shoe  into  the  dusty 
road. 

"How  ith  Mr.  Rand,  Mr.  Adam  ?" 

"He  'ith'  almost  well,"  answered  Adam.    "He's  going 


122  LEWIS   RAND 

down  into  the  parlour  to-night,  and  pretty  soon  he's  going 
home,  and  then  he  '11  be  riding  into  town  to  his  office." 

He  looked  kindly  into  the  small,  freckled,  pretty  face. 
The  heat  of  the  day  stood  in  moisture  on  Vinie's  brow,  she 
had  pushed  back  her  sunbonnet,  and  the  breeze  stirred  the 
damp  tendrils  of  her  hair.  "Tom  must  miss  him,"  said  the 
hunter. 

"Yeth,  Tom  does."  Vinie  drew  toward  her  a  black 
berry  branch,  and  studied  the  white  bloom.  "Which  do 
you  think  is  the  prettiest,  Mr.  Adam,  —  Miss  Unity  or  Miss 
Jacqueline  ? " 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Adam.  "They  are  both 
mighty  pretty." 

"I  think  Miss  Unity's  the  prettiest,"  said  Vinie.  "It's 
time  I  was  walking  back  to  Charlottesville."  She  rose  and 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  dusty  road  below  the  blackberry 
bushes,  looking  toward  Fontenoy.  "  I  don't  suppose  he  asked 
after  Tom  and  me,  Mr.  Adam  ? " 

"Why,  surely !"  protested  Adam, with  cheerful  mendacity. 
"  He  asked  after  you  both  particularly.  He  said  he  certainly 
would  like  a  cup  of  water  from  your  well." 

"Did  he?"  asked  Vinie,  and  grew  pink.  "That  water's 
mighty  cold." 

"I'd  like  a  cup  of  it  myself,"  said  Adam.  "Since  we  are 
both  walking  to  town,  we  might  as  well  walk  together.  Don't 
you  want  me  to  break  some  cherry  blossoms  for  your 
parlour  ?" 

"Yeth,  if  you  please,"  replied  Vinie,  and  the  two  went  up 
the  sunny  road  to  Charlottesville. 

Back  at  Fontenoy,  in  the  blue  room,  Rand,  resting  in  the 
easy  chair  beside  the  window,  left  the  consideration  of  Adam 
and  Adam's  talk,  and  gave  his  mind  to  the  approaching  hour 
in  the  Fontenoy  drawing-room.  He  both  desired  and  dreaded 


TO   ALTHEA  123 

that  encounter.  Would  Miss  Churchill  be  there  ?  Aided  by 
the  homely  friendliness  of  her  cousin's  house  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road,  he  had  met  her  and  conversed  with  her  with 
out  being  greatly  conscious  of  any  circumstance  other  than 
that  she  was  altogether  beautiful,  and  that  he  loved  her.  But 
this  was  not  Mrs.  Selden's,  this  was  Fontenoy.  He  had 
stood  here  hat  in  hand,  within  Miss  Churchill's  memory  — 
certainly  within  the  memory  of  the  men  of  her  family.  Well ! 
He  was,  thank  God  !  an  American  citizen.  The  hat  was  now 
out  of  his  hand  and  upon  his  head.  The  conditions  of  his 
boyhood  might,  he  thought,  be  forgotten  in  the  conditions 
of  his  manhood.  But  —  they  would  all  be  gathered  in  the 
drawing-room.  Should  he  speak  first  to  Colonel  Churchill 
as  his  host,  or  first  to  the  ladies  of  the  house,  to  Miss  Churchill 
and  Miss  Dandridge  ?  If  Miss  Churchill  or  Miss  Dandridge 
were  at  the  harpsichord,  should  he  wait  at  the  door  until 
the  piece  was  ended  ?  He  had  a  vision  of  a  great  space  of  pol 
ished  floor  reflecting  candlelight,  and  of  himself  crossing 
that  trackless  desert  beneath  the  eyes  of  goddesses  and  men. 
The  colour  came  into  his  face.  There  were  twenty  things 
he  might  have  asked  Mr.  Pincornet  that  night  at  Monticello. 
He  turned  with  hot  impatience  from  the  consideration  of 
the  usages  of  society,  and  fell  to  building  with  large  and 
strong  timbers  the  edifice  of  his  future.  He  built  on  while 
the  dusk  gathered,  and  he  built  while  Joab  helped  him  to 
dress,  and  he  was  yet  busy  with  beam  and  rafter  when  at 
eight  o'clock,  with  some  help  from  the  negro,  he  descended 
the  stairs  and  crossed  the  hall  to  the  parlour  door.  How  was 
he  dressed  ?  He  was  dressed  in  a  high-collared  coat  of  blue 
cloth  with  eagle  buttons,  in  cloth  breeches  and  silk  stockings, 
in  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  and  a  lawn  neckcloth  of  many 
folds.  His  hair  was  innocent  of  powder,  and  cut  short  in 
what  the  period  supposed  to  be  the  high  Roman  fashion.  It 


124  LEWIS   RAND 

was  his  chief  touch  of  the  Republican.  In  the  matter  of 
dress  he  had  not  his  leader's  courage.  Abhorring  slovenli 
ness  and  the  Jacobin  motley,  he  would  not  affect  them.  He 
was  dressed  in  his  best  for  this  evening;  and  if  his  attire  was 
not  chosen  as  Ludwell  Gary  would  have  chosen,  it  was  yet 
the  dress  of  a  gentleman,  and  it  was  worn  with  dignity. 

Music  was  playing,  as  he  paused  at  the  half-open  door,  — 
he  could  see  Miss  Dandridge  at  the  harpsichord.  The  room 
seemed  very  light.  For  a  moment  he  ceased  to  be  the  master- 
builder  and  sank  to  the  estate  of  the  apprentice,  awkward  and 
eaten  with  self-distrust;  the  next,  with  a  characteristic  abrupt 
motion  of  head  and  hand,  he  recovered  himself,  waved  Joab 
aside,  and  boldly  crossed  the  threshold. 

Unity,  at  the  harpsichord,  was  playing  over,  very  rapidly, 
one  after  another,  reels,  hornpipes,  jigs,  and  Congos,  and 
looking,  meanwhile,  slyly  out  of  velvet  eyes  at  Fairfax  Gary, 
who  had  asked  for  a  particularly  tender  serenade.  He  stood 
beside  her,  and  strove  for  injured  dignity.  It  was  a  day  of 
open  courtship,  and  polite  Albemarle  watched  with  admira 
tion  the  younger  Gary's  suit  to  Miss  Dandridge.  He  had 
ridden  alone  to  Fontenoy,  his  brother,  who  had  business  in 
Charlottesville,  promising  to  join  him  later  in  the  evening. 
Mr.  Ned  Hunter,  too,  was  at  Fontenoy,  and  he  also  would 
have  been  leaning  over  the  harpsichord  but  for  the  fact  that 
Colonel  Dick  had  fastened  upon  him  and  was  demonstrating 
with  an  impressive  forefinger  the  feasibility  of  widening  into  a 
highway  fit  for  a  mail-coach  a  certain  forest  track  running 
over  the  mountains  and  through  the  adjoining  county.  They 
stood  upon  the  hearth,  and  Mr.  Hunter  could  see  Miss  Dan 
dridge  only  by  much  craning  of  the  neck.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  said 
vaguely,  "  it  can  easily  be  widened,  sir." 

Major  Churchill,  playing  Patience  at  the  small  table, 
raised  his  head  like  a  war-horse.  "Nonsense!  widen  on  one 


TO   ALTHEA  125 

side  and  you  will  fall  into  the  river ;  on  the  other,  and  a  pretty 
cliff  you  '11  have  to  climb  !  You  could  as  well  widen  the  way 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis  —  or  Mahomet's  Bridge  to 
Paradise  —  or  Thomas  Jefferson's  Natural  Bridge !  Pshaw ! " 
He  began  to  build  from  the  five  of  clubs. 

"A  detour  can  be  made,"  said  Colonel  Dick. 

"Around  the  Blue  Ridge?"  asked  the  Major  scornfully. 
"Pshaw!  And  it  passes  my  comprehension  what  a  stage 
coach  would  do  in  that  country.  There  are  not  ten  houses 
on  that  cart  track." 

"Nonsense!  there  are  fifty." 

"Fifty-three,  I  assure  you,  sir." 

The  Major  laid  down  his  cards  and  turned  in  his  chair.  "I 
counted  every  structure  the  last  time  I  was  on  that  road. 
Taking  in  Fagg's  Mill  and  Brown's  Ferry  and  the  Mountain 
Schoolhouse,  there  are  just  ten  houses.  It  is  my  habit,  sir, 
to  reckon  accurately." 

Mr.  Hunter  grew  red.  "But,  sir,  the  count  was  taken  be 
fore  the  last  election,  and  fifty-three — " 

"Ten,  sir!"  said  the  Major,  and  placed  the  queen  of 
diamonds. 

"When  did  you  ride  that  way,  Edward?"  queried  his 
brother.  "I  don't  believe  you've  been  across  the  mountain 
since  the  war." 

"I  was  on  that  road  in  '87,"  said  the  Major.  "I  rode 
that  way  on  the  sixth  of  April  with  Clark.  And  there  are 
ten  houses;  I  counted  them." 

"But  good  Lord,  sir,  this  is  1804!" 

The  Major's  hawk  eyes,  dark  and  bright  beneath  shaggy 
brows,  regarded  Mr.  Ned  Hunter  with  disfavour.  "I  am 
aware,  sir,  that  this  is  1804,"  he  said,  and  placed  the  king 
of  diamonds. 

Jacqueline  arose  from  her  chair  beside  the  open  window, 


126  LEWIS   RAND 

softly  crossed  the  floor,  and  touched  Colonel  Churchill  upon 
the  arm.  "Uncle  Dick,"  she  murmured,  and  with  the  slight 
est  of  gestures  indicated  Rand  standing  in  the  door. 

Colonel  Churchill  started,  precipitantly  left  Mr.  Hunter, 
and  crossed  the  floor  to  his  guest  of  two  weeks.  "My  dear 
sir,  you  came  in  so  quietly!  I  welcome  you  downstairs. 
Gilmer  says  you  're  a  strong  fighter.  When  I  was  thrown  at 
that  same  turn  coming  home  from  a  wedding,  I  believe  I 
was  in  bed  for  a  month !  —  Allow  me  to  present  you  to  my 
nieces  —  Miss  Churchill,  Miss  Dandridge.  My  poor  wife, 
you  know,  never  leaves  her  chamber.  Mr.  Ned  Hunter, 
Mr.  Rand.  Mr.  Fairfax  Cary  I  think  you  know,  and  my  bro 
ther  Edward." 

The  young  men's  greeting,  if  somewhat  constrained,  was 
courteous.  Major  Churchill  played  the  card  which  he  held 
in  his  hand,  then  slowly  rose,  came  stiffly  from  behind  the 
small  table,  and  made  an  elaborate  bow.  There  was  in  his 
acknowledgment  of  the  honour  of  Mr.  Rand's  acquaintance 
so  much  accent,  cruelty,  and  hauteur  that  the  younger  man 
flushed.  "This  is  an  enemy,"  said  a  voice  within  him.  He 
bowed  in  return,  and  he  no  longer  felt  any  distrust  of  himself. 
When  Miss  Dandridge,  leaving  the  harpsichord,  established 
herself  upon  the  sofa  before  him  and  opened  a  lively  fire  of 
questions  and  comment,  he  answered  with  readiness.  He 
thought  her  pretty  figure  in  amber  lutestring,  and  the  turn 
of  her  ringleted  head,  and  the  play  of  her  scarlet  lips  all 
very  good  to  look  at,  and  he  looked  without  hesitation.  The 
account  which  she  demanded  of  the  accident  which  had 
placed  him  there  he  gave  with  a  free,  bold,  and  pleasing  touch, 
and  the  thanks  that  were  her  due  as  the  immediate  Samari 
tan  he  chivalrously  paid.  Unity  made  friends  with  all  parties, 
and  she  now  found,  with  some  amusement,  that  she  was 
going  to  like  Lewis  Rand. 


TO   ALTHEA  127 

Rand  looked  too,  freely  and  quietly,  at  the  young  men, 
his  fellow  guests.  Each,  he  knew,  was  arrogantly  impatient 
of  his  presence  there.  Well,  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ! 
His  sense  of  humour  awoke,  and  Federalist  hauteur  ceased 
to  fret  him.  Colonel  Churchill,  the  most  genial  of  men, 
pushed  his  chair  into  the  Republican's  neighbourhood,  and 
plunged  into  talk.  Conversation  in  Virginia,  where  men 
were  concerned,  opened  with  politics,  crops,  or  horseflesh. 
Colonel  Dick  chose  the  second,  and  Rand,  who  had  a  first 
hand  knowledge  of  the  subject,  met  him  in  the  fields.  The 
trinity  of  corn,  wheat,  and  tobacco  occupied  them  for  a  while, 
as  did  the  fruit  and  an  experiment  in  vine-growing.  The 
horse  then  entered  the  conversation,  and  Rand  asked  after 
Goldenrod,  that  had  won  the  cup  at  Fredericksburg.  "I 
broke  him  for  you,  you  know,  sir,  seven  years  ago." 

Colonel  Churchill,  who  in  his  own  drawing-room  would 
not  for  the  world  have  mentioned  this  little  fact  to  his  guest, 
suddenly  thought  within  his  honest  heart,  "This  is  a  man, 
even  if  he  is  a  damned  Republican ! "  He  gave  a  circum 
stantial  account  of  Goldenrod,  and  of  Goldenrod's  brother, 
Firefly,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "I'll  keep  off  politics." 
Presently  Rand  began  to  speak  of  Adam  Gaudylock's  ac 
count  of  New  Orleans. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  Colonel,  "there's  a  city!  But  it's  not 
English  —  it  is  Spanish  and  French.  And  all  that  new  land 
now!  'twill  never  be  held  —  begging  your  pardon,  Mr. 
Rand  —  by  Thomas  Jefferson  and  a  lot  of  new-fangled 
notions!  No  Spaniard  ever  did  believe  that  all  men  are 
born  equal,  and  no  Frenchman  ever  wanted  liberty  long  — 
not  unadorned  liberty,  anyway.  As  for  our  own  people  who 
are  pouring  over  the  mountains  —  well,  English  blood 
naturally  likes  pride  and  power  and  what  was  good  enough 
for  its  grandparents !  Louisiana  is  too  big  and  too  far  away. 


128  LEWIS   RAND 

It  takes  a  month  to  go  from  Washington  to  New  Orleans. 
Rome  could  n't  keep  her  countries  that  were  far  away,  and 
Rome  believed  in  armies  and  navies  and  proper  taxation, 
and  had  no  pernicious  notions  —  begging  your  pardon  again, 
Mr.  Rand  —  about  free  trade  and  the  abolishment  of  slavery ! 
I  tell  you,  this  new  country  of  ours  will  breed  or  import  a 
leader  —  and  then  she  '11  revolt  and  make  him  dictator  —  and 
then  we'll  have  an  empire  for  neighbour,  an  empire  with 
out  any  queasy  ideas  as  to  majorities  and  natural  rights! 
And  Thomas  Jefferson  —  begging  your  pardon,  Mr.  Rand 
—  is  acute  enough  to  see  the  danger.  He 's  not  bothering 
about  majorities  and  natural  rights  either  —  for  the  country 
west  of  the  Ohio!  He's  preparing  to  govern  the  Mississippi 
Territory  like  a  conquered  province.  Mark  my  words,  Mr. 
Rand,  she'll  find  a  Buonaparte  —  some  young  demagogue, 
some  ambitious  upstart  without  scruple  or  a  hostage  to  for 
tune,  some  common  soldier  like  Buonaparte  or  favourite  like 
-like—" 

"Like-  "queried  Rand.  But  the  Colonel,  who  had  sud 
denly  grown  very  red,  would  not  or  could  not  continue  his  com 
parison.  He  floundered,  drew  out  his  snuff-box  and  restored 
it  to  his  pocket,  and  finally  was  taken  pity  on  by  Unity,  who 
with  dancing  eyes  reentered  the  conversation,  and  asked 
if  Mr.  Rand  had  read  The  Romance  of  the  Forest.  Fair 
fax  Gary  left  the  harpsichord,  where  he  had  been  impatiently 
turning  over  the  music,  and,  strolling  to  one  of  the  long 
windows,  stood  now  looking  out  into  the  gloomy  night,  and 
now  staring  with  a  frowning  face  at  the  lit  room  and  at 
Miss  Dandridge,  in  her  amber  gown,  smiling  upon  Lewis 
Rand !  Near  him,  Major  Churchill,  preternaturally  grey 
and  absorbed,  played  Patience.  The  cards  fell  from  his 
hand  with  the  sound  of  dead  leaves.  Beside  a  second  window 
sat  Jacqueline,  looking,  too,  into  the  night.  She  sat  in  a  low 


TO   ALTHEA  129 

chair  covered  with  dull  green  silk,  and  the  straight  window 
curtains,  of  the  same  colour  and  texture,  half  enshadowed 
her.  Her  dress  was  white,  with  coral  about  her  throat  and 
in  her  hair.  She  leaned  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  with 
her  chin  in  her  hand  looked  upon  the  dark  mass  of  the 
trees,  and  the  stars  between  the  hurrying  clouds. 

The  younger  Gary,  at  his  window,  leaned  out  into  the  night, 
listened  a  moment,  then  turned  and  left  the  room.  "It  is  my 
brother,  sir/'  he  announced,  as  he  passed  Colonel  Churchill. 
"I  hear  him  at  the  gate." 

Ten  minutes  later  Ludwell  Cary  entered.  He  was  in  riding- 
dress,  his  handsome  face  a  little  worn  and  pale,  but  smiling, 
his  bearing  as  usual,  quiet,  manly,  and  agreeable.  "It  is  a 
sultry  night,  sir,"  he  said  to  Colonel  Churchill.  "There  is  a 
storm  brewing. — Miss  Dandridge,  your  very  humble  serv 
ant! —  Mr.  Rand — "  He  held  out  his  hand.  "I  am  re 
joiced  to  see  you  recovered  ! " 

Rand  stood  up,  and  touched  the  extended  hand.  "Thank 
you,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "I  were  a  Turk  if  I  did  not 
recover  here  amidst  all  this  goodness." 

"Yes,  yes,  there's  goodness,"  answered  Cary,  and  moved 
on  to  the  window  where  Jacqueline  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the 
curtains.  Rand,  looking  after  him,  saw  him  speak  to  her, 
and  saw  her  answer  with  a  smile. 

A  pang  ran  through  him,  acrid  and  fiery.  It  was  not  like 
the  vapour  of  distaste  and  dislike,  of  which  he  had  been 
conscious  on  the  day  of  the  election.  That  had  been  cold 
and  clinging;  this  was  a  burning  and  a  poisoned  arrow.  It 
killed  the  softening,  the  consciousness  of  charm,  the  spell 
of  Gary's  kindness  while  he  lay  there  helpless  in  the  blue 
room.  Not  since  the  old  days  when  his  heart  was  hot  against 
his  father,  had  he  felt  such  venom,  such  rancour.  That  had 
been  a  boy's  wild  revolt  against  injustice;  this  passion  was 


130  LEWIS   RAND 

the  fury  of  the  adolescent  who  sees  his  rival.  He  looked  at 
Gary  through  a  red  mist.  This  cleared,  but  a  seed  that  was 
in  Rand's  nature,  buried  far,  far  down  in  the  ancestral  earth, 
swelled  a  little  where  it  lay  in  its  dim  chasm.  The  rift  closed, 
the  glow  as  of  heated  iron  faded,  and  Rand  bitterly  told  him 
self,  "He  will  win;  more  than  that,  he  deserves  to  win !  As 
for  you,  you  are  here  to  behave  like  a  gentleman."  He  turned 
more  fully  to  Unity,  and  talked  of  books  and  of  such  matters 
as  he  thought  might  be  pleasing  to  a  lady. 

Fairfax  Gary  entered,  brushing  the  drops  from  his  coat- 
sleeve.  "The  rain  is  coming  down,"  he  said,  and  with  delib 
eration  seated  himself  beside  Miss  Dandridge. 

"That 's  good ! "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "Now  things  will 
grow!  — Jacqueline,  child,  are  n't  you  going  to  sing  to  us  ?" 

Jacqueline  rose,  left  the  window,  and  went  to  her  harp, 
Gary  following  her.  She  drew  the  harp  toward  her,  then 
raised  her  clear  face.  "What  shall  I  sing?"  she  asked. 

Gary,  struck  by  a  note  in  her  voice,  glanced  at  her  quickly 
where  she  now  sat,  full  in  the  light  of  the  candles.  She  had 
no  colour  ordinarily,  but  to-night  the  fine  pale  brown  of  her 
face  was  tinged  with  rose.  Her  eyes  were  lustrous.  As  she 
spoke  she  drew  her  hands  across  the  strings,  and  there  fol 
lowed  a  sound,  faint,  far,  and  sweet.  Gary  wondered.  He 
was  not  a  vain  man,  nor  over-sanguine,  but  he  wondered,  "Is 
the  brightness  for  me  ? "  The  colour  came  into  his  own  cheek, 
and  a  vigour  touched  him  from  head  to  heel.  "I  don't  care 
what  you  sing!"  he  said.  "Your  songs  are  all  the  sweetest 
ever  written.  Sing  To  Althea ! " 

She  sang.  Rand  watched  her  from  the  distance  —  the 
hands  and  the  white  arm  seen  behind  the  gold  strings,  the 
slender  figure  in  a  gown  of  filmy  white,  the  warm,  bare  throat 
pouring  melody,  the  face  that  showed  the  soul  within.  All 
the  room  watched  her  as  she  sang, — 


TO   ALTHEA  131 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage." 

Through  the  window  came  the  sound  of  rain,  the  smell  of 
wet  box  and  of  damask  roses.  Now  and  then  the  lightning 
flashed,  showing  the  garden  and  the  white  bloom  of  locust 
trees. 

"Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage." 

Rand's  heart  ached  with  passionate  longing,  passionate 
admiration.  He  thought  that  the  voice  to  which  he  listened, 
the  voice  that  brooded  and  dreamed,  for  all  that  it  was  so 
angel-sweet,  would  reach  him  past  all  the  iron  bars  of  time 
or  of  eternity.  He  thought  that  when  he  came  to  die  he 
would  wish  to  die  listening  to  it.  The  voice  sang  to  him 
like  an  angel  voice  singing  to  Ishmael  in  the  wilderness. 

The  song  came  to  an  end,  but  after  a  moment  Jacqueline 
sang  again,  sonorous  and  passionate  words  of  a  lover  to  his 
mistress.  It  was  not  now  the  Cavalier  hymning  of  constancy; 
it  was  the  Elizabethan  breathing  passion,  and  his  cry  was 
the  more  potent. 

"The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  "  — 

Blinding  lightning,  followed  by  a  tremendous  crash,  startled 
the  singer  from  her  harp  and  brought  all  in  the  room  to  their 
feet.  "That  struck!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "Look  out, 
Fairfax,  and  see  if  't  was  the  stables !  I  hear  the  dogs  howl- 
ing." 

"Twas  the  big  pine  by  the  gate,  I  think,  sir,"  answered 
Fairfax  Cary,  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  window.  "Gad !  it 
is  black!" 

"You    two    cannot    go    home    to-night,"    cried  Colonel 


132  LEWIS   RAND 

Churchill, with  satisfaction.  "And  here's  Cato  with  the  de 
canters  !  We  might  have  a  hand  at  Loo  —  eh,  Unity  ?  you 
and  Fairfax,  Ned  Hunter  and  I.  — The  card-table,  Cato!" 

The  four  sat  down,  the  card-table  being  so  placed  as  to 
quite  divide  Jacqueline  and  Ludwell  Cary,  at  the  harp,  from 
Major  Edward's  small  table  and  Rand  beside  the  sofa. 
"Edward!"  said  the  Colonel.  His  brother  nodded,  gathered 
up  his  cards,  and  turned  squarely  to  the  entertainment  of 
the  Republican.  "So,  Mr.  Rand,  Mr.  Monroe  goes  to 
Spain !  What  the  Devil  is  he  going  to  do  there  ?  I  wish  that 
your  party,  sir,  would  send  Mr.  Madison  to  Turkey  and 
Colonel  Burr  to  the  Barbary  States!  And  what,  may  I  ask, 
are  you  going  to  do  with  the  Mississippi  now  that  you  Ve 
got  it  ?  It 's  a  damned  expensive  business  buying  from 
Buonaparte.  Sixty  millions  for  a  casus  belli!  That's  what 
you  have  paid,  and  that's  what  you  have  acquired,  sir!" 

"I  don't  think  you  can  be  certain  that  it's  a  casus  belli, 
sir  —  " 

"Sir,"  retorted  the  Major,  "I  may  not  know  much,  but 
what  I  know,  I  know  damned  well!  You  cry  peace,  but 
there  '11  be  no  peace.  There  '11  be  war,  sir,  war,  war,  war ! " 

Unity  glanced  from  the  card -table.  "Sing  again,  Jac 
queline,  do!  Sing  something  peaceful,"  and  Jacqueline,  still 
with  a  colour  and  with  shining  eyes,  laughed,  struck  a  sound 
ing  chord,  and  in  her  noble  contralto  sang  Scots  wha  hae 
wi'  Wallace  bled. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN   THE    GARDEN 

IN  the  forenoon  of  the  next  day  Rand  closed,  for  the 
second  time  that  morning,  the  door  of  the  blue  room 
behind  him,  descended  the  stairs,  and,  passing  through 
the  quiet  house,  went  out  into  the  flower  garden.  He  was 
going  away  that  afternoon.  Breakfast  had  been  taken  in  his 
own  room,  but  afterward,  with  some  dubitation,  he  had  gone 
downstairs.  There  Colonel  Churchill  met  him  heartily  enough, 
but  presently  business  with  his  overseer  had  taken  the  Colonel 
away.  Rand  found  himself  cornered  by  Major  Edward  and 
drawn  into  a  discussion  of  the  impeachment  of  Judge  Chase. 
Rand  could  be  moved  to  the  blackest  rage,  but  he  had  no 
surface  irritability  of  temper.  To  his  antagonists  his  self- 
command  was  often  maddening.  Major  Churchill  was  as 
disputatious  as  Arthur  Lee,  and  an  adept  at  a  quarrel,  but 
the  talk  of  the  impeachment  went  tamely  on.  The  Repub 
lican  would  not  fight  at  Fontenoy,  and  at  last  the  Major 
in  a  cold  rage  went  away  to  the  library  —  first,  however, 
watching  the  young  man  well  on  his  way  up  the  stairs  and 
toward  the  blue  room.  But  Rand  had  not  stayed  in  the  blue 
room.  Restless  and  unhappy,  the  garden,  viewed  through 
his  window,  invited  him.  He  thought:  "I'll  walk  in  it  once 
again;  I'll  find  the  summer-house  where  I  sat  beside  her," 
and  he  had  acted  upon  his  impulse.  No  one  was  about. 
Within  and  without,  the  house  seemed  lapped  in  quiet.  He 
had  been  given  to  understand  that  the  ladies  were  busy  with 
household  matters,  and  he  believed  the  Carys  to  have  rid 
den  to  Greenwood.  That  afternoon  he  would  mount  Selim, 


134  LEWIS   RAND 

and  with  Joab  would  go  home  to  the  house  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road. 

After  the  rain  of  the  night  before  the  garden  was  cool  and 
sweet.  The  drops  yet  lay  on  the  tangle  of  old-fashioned  flowers, 
on  the  box  and  honeysuckle  and  the  broad  leaves  of  the  trees 
where  all  the  birds  were  singing.  The  gravel  paths  were 
wet  and  shining.  Rand  walked  slowly,  here  and  there,  be 
tween  the  lines  of  box  or  under  arching  boughs,  his  mind 
now  trying  to  bring  back  the  day  when  he  had  walked  there 
as  a  boy,  now  wondering  with  a  wistful  passion  if  he  was  to 
leave  Fontenoy  without  again  seeing  Jacqueline.  He  meant 
to  leave  without  one  word  that  the  world  might  not  hear, 
but  he  thought  it  hard  that  he  must  go  without  a  touch  of  the 
hand,  without  a  "  From  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  your  kind 
ness.  Good-bye,  good-bye ! "  That  would  not  be  much ; 
Fontenoy  might  give  him  that. 

He  reached  an  edge  of  the  garden  where  a  threadlike 
stream  trickled  under  a  bank  of  periwinkle,  phlox,  and  ivy, 
and  on  through  a  little  wood  of  cedars.  The  air  was  cool  be 
neath  the  trees,  and  Rand  raised  his  forehead  to  the  blowing 
wind.  The  narrow  pathway  turned,  and  he  came  upon  Deb 
and  Miranda  seated  upon  the  bare,  red  earth  and  playing  with 
flower  dolls. 

Deb  had  before  her  a  parade  of  morning-glories,  purple  and 
white,  pink  and  blue,  while  Miranda  sat  in  a  ring  of  mari 
golds  and  red  columbines.  Each  was  slowly  swaying  to  and 
fro,  murmuring  to  herself,  and  manipulating  with  small, 
darting  fingers  her  rainbow  throng  of  ladies.  Rand,  unseen, 
watched  the  manoeuvres  for  a  while,  then  coughed  to  let 
them  know  he  was  there,  and  presently  sat  down  upon  a 
root  of  cedar,  and  gave  Deb  his  opinion  of  the  flower  people. 
Children  and  he  were  always  at  their  ease  together. 

"Hollyhocks     make    the    finest    ladies,"    he    announced 


IN   THE   GARDEN  135 

gravely.  "Little  Miss  Randolph  puts  snapdragon  caps  upon 
them  and  gives  them  scarfs  of  ribbon  grass." 

"Hollyhocks  are  not  in  bloom,"  said  Deb.  "I  use  snap 
dragon  for  caps,  too.  —  Now  she  has  on  a  red  and  gold  cap. 
This  is  a  currant-leaf  shawl." 

"Do  you  name  them  ?"  asked  Rand,  poising  a  columbine 
upon  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Deb.  "All  people  have  names. 
That  is  Sapphira." 

Miranda  advanced  a  flourishing  zinnia.  "Dishyer  Miss 
Keren-Happuch  —  Marse  Job's  daughter." 

Deb  regarded  with  shining  eyes  a  pale  blue  morning- 
glory  with  a  little  cap  of  white.  "This  is  Ruth  —  I  love  her! 
The  dark  one  is  Hagar  —  she  was  dark,  you  know  —  and 
those  two  are  Rachel  and  Leah." 

"OF  Miss  Babylon!"  said  Miranda  succinctly,  and  put 
forth  a  many-petalled  red  lady. 

"  Babylon,  Babylon, 
Red  an*  sinnin'  Babylon, 
Wash  her  han's  in  Jordan  flood, 
Still  she's  sinnin'  Babylon!" 

"And  these  three?"  asked  Rand. 

"Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,"  answered  Deb.  "Faith  is 
blue,  Hope  is  pink,  and  that  white  one  is  Charity." 

"She  has  a  purple  edge  to  her  gown." 

"Yes,"  said  Deb,  "and  I  am  going  to  give  her  a  crown, 
'for  the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity!'  That  yellow  lily 
is  the  Shulamite.  Miranda  and  I  are  going  now  to  gather 
more  ladies."  She  looked  at  Rand  with  large  child's  eyes. 
"  If  you  want  somebody  to  talk  to,  my  sister  Jacqueline  is 
reading  over  there  in  the  summer-house." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Rand's  face.  His  heart  beat  so  loud 
and  fast  that  it  stifled  a  voice  within  him.  He  did  not  even 


136  LEWIS   RAND 

hear  the  voice.  He  rose  at  once,  turned,  and  took  the  path 
that  Deb's  brown  finger  indicated.  Had  he  been  another  man, 
had  he  been,  perhaps,  Ludwell  Gary,  he  might  not  have 
gone.  But  he  was  Lewis  Rand,  the  product  and  effect 
of  causes  inherited  and  self-planted,  and  his  passion,  rising 
suddenly,  mastered  him  with  a  giant's  grip.  The  only  voice 
that  he  heard  was  the  giant's  urgent  cry,  and  he  went  with 
out  protest. 

The  summer-house  was  a  small,  latticed  place,  overgrown 
with  the  Seven  Sisters  rose,  and  set  in  a  breast-high  ring  of 
box  opening  here  and  there  to  the  garden  paths.  A  tulip  tree 
towered  above  the  gravel  space  before  it,  and  two  steps  led 
to  a  floor  chequered  with  light  and  shade,  and  to  a  rustic 
chair  and  table.  Jacqueline  was  not  within  the  summer-house ; 
she  sat  in  the  doorway,  upon  the  step.  She  was  not  reading. 
She  sat  bowed  together,  her  head  upon  her  folded  arms,  a 
figure  still  and  tragic  as  a  sphinx  or  sibyl.  Rand's  eyes 
upon  her  roused  her  from  her  brooding.  She  lifted  her 
head,  saw  him,  and  her  face,  which  had  been  drawn  and 
weary,  became  like  the  face  of  the  young  dawn. 

As  Rand  crossed  the  space  between  them,  she  rose.  He 
saw  the  colour  and  the  light,  and  he  uttered  only  her  name 
-  "Jacqueline,  Jacqueline!"  A  moment,  and  they  were  in 
each  other's  arms. 

It  was  their  golden  hour.  Neither  thought  of  right  or 
wrong,  of  the  conditions  of  life  beyond  their  ring  of  box,  of 
wisdom  or  its  contrary.  It  was  as  though  they  had  met  in 
the  great  void  of  space,  the  marvel  called  man  and  the 
wonder  that  is  woman,  each  drawn  to  each  over  the  endless 
fields  and  through  the  immeasurable  ages.  Each  saw  the 
other  transfigured,  and  each  wished  for  lover  and  companion 
the  other  shining  one. 

They  moved  to  the  summer-house,  and  sat  down  upon  the 


IN   THE  GARDEN  137 

step.  About  them  was  the  Seven  Sisters  rose,  and  above 
towered  the  tulip  tree  with  a  mockingbird  singing  in  its 
branches.  The  place  was  filled  with  the  odour  of  the  box. 
To  the  end  of  their  lives  the  smell  of  box  brought  back  that 
hour  in  the  Fontenoy  garden.  The  green  walls  hid  from  view 
all  without  their  little  round.  They  had  not  heard  step  or 
voice  when  suddenly,  having  strolled  that  way  by  accident, 
there  emerged  from  the  winding  path  into  the  space  about 
the  summer-house  Colonel  Churchill  and  Ludwell  Cary. 
There  was  a  second's  utter  check,  then,  "Sir!"  cried  the 
Colonel,  in  wrathful  amazement. 

The  hands  of  the  lovers  fell  apart.  Rand  rose,  but  Jac 
queline  sat  still,  looking  at  her  uncle  with  a  paling  cheek 
and  a  faint  line  between  her  brows.  The  mockingbird  sang 
on,  but  the  garden  appeared  to  darken  and  grow  cold.  The 
place  seemed  filled  with  difficult  breathing.  Then,  before  a 
word  was  spoken,  Cary  turned,  made  a  slight  gesture  with 
his  hand,  and  went  away,  disappearing  between  the  lines 
of  box.  The  sound  of  his  footsteps  died  in  the  direction  of 
the  stream  and  the  dark  wood.  Colonel  Churchill  moistened 
his  lips  and  spoke  in  a  thick  voice.  "You  scoundrel!  Was 
it  for  this  ?  You  are  a  scoundrel,  sir ! " 

"I  have  asked  Miss  Churchill  to  be  my  wife,"  said  Rand, 
with  steadiness.  "She  has  consented.  I  love  your  niece, 
sir,  with  all  my  heart,  most  truly,  most  dearly!  I  will  ask 
you  to  believe  that  it  was  not  in  my  mind  to  speak  to  her  to 
day,  or  to  speak  at  all  without  your  knowledge.  I  confess 
the  impropriety  of  my  course.  But  we  met  unawares.  It 
is  not  to  be  helped.  In  no  way  is  she  to  blame." 

Jacqueline  rose,  came  to  her  uncle,  and  tried  to  take  his 
hand.  He  repulsed  her.  "Is  this  true  —  what  this  man  says  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Jacqueline.  "It  is  true.  Oh,  forgive 
him!" 


138  LEWIS   RAND 

The  Colonel  struck  down  her  outstretched  hands.  "I  do 
not  believe  you  are  Henry's  child !  Your  mother  was 
a  strange  woman.  You  are  not  a  Churchill.  My  God! 
Henry's  child  talking  of  marrying  this  —  this  —  this  gentle 
man.  You  are  mad,  or  I  am  mad.  Come  away  from  him, 
Jacqueline!" 

"I  love  him!"  cried  Jacqueline.  "Oh,  Uncle  Dick,  Uncle 
Dick!—" 

"I  loved  your  niece,  sir,  when  I  was  a  boy,"  said  Rand; 
"  and  I  love  her  now  that  I  am  a  man.  I  grant  that  I  should 
not  have  spoken  to  her  to-day.  I  ask  your  pardon  for  what 
may  seem  to  you  insult  and  thanklessness.  But  the  thing 
itself — is  it  so  impossible?  Why  is  it  impossible  that  1 
should  wed  where  I  love  with  all  my  heart  ? "  He  broke  a 
piece  of  the  box  beside  him  and  drew  it  through  his  hands, 
then  threw  it  away,  and  squarely  faced  the  elder  man.  "I 
had  my  way  to  make  in  life.  Well,  I  am  making  it  fast. 
I  am  making  it  faster,  perhaps,  than  any  other  man  in  the 
county,  be  he  who  he  may!  I  am  poor,  but  I  am  not  so 
poor  as  once  I  was,  and  I  shall  be  richer  yet.  My  want 
of  wealth  is  perhaps  the  least  —  why  should  I  not  say  that 
I  know  it  is  the  least  objection  in  your  mind  ?  My  party  ? 
Well,  I  shall  become  a  leader  of  my  party  —  and  Republicans 
are  white  as  well  as  Federalists.  It  is  not  forgery  or  murder 
to  detest  Pitt  and  George  the  Third,  or  to  believe  in  France ! 
Is  it  so  poor  a  thing  to  become  a  leader  of  a  party  that  has 
gained  an  empire,  that  has  put  an  end  to  the  Algerine  piracy, 
that  has  reduced  the  debt,  that  has  made  easier  every  man's 
condition,  and  that  stands  for  freedom  of  thought  and  deed 
and  advance  of  all  knowledge  ?  Party !  Now  and  then,  even 
in  Virginia,  there  is  a  marriage  between  the  parties!  My 
family  —  or  my  lack  of  family?  The  fact  that  my  father 
rolled  tobacco,  and  that  now  and  then  I  broke  a  colt  for 


YOU   ARE  A  SCOUNDREL,   SIR! 


IN   THE  GARDEN  139 

you  ? "  He  smiled.  "Well,  you  must  allow  that  I  broke  them 
thoroughly  —  and  Goldenrod  was  a  very  demon  !  Pshaw ! 
This  is  America,  and  once  we  had  an  ideal!  For  the 
rest,  though  I  do  not  go  to  church,  I  believe  in  God,  and 
though  I  have  been  called  an  unscrupulous  lawyer,  I  take  no 
dirty  money.  Some  say  that  I  am  a  demagogue  —  I  think 
that  they  are  wrong.  I  love  your  niece,  sir,  and  more 
than  that  —  oh,  much  more  than  that!  —  she  says  that  she 
loves  me.  She  says  that  she  will  share  my  life.  If  I  make 
not  that  sharing  sweet  to  her,  then  indeed  —  But  I  will! 
I  will  give  her  wealth  and  name  and  place.,  and  a  heart  to 
keep.  Again  I  say  that  the  fault  of  this  meeting  is  all  mine. 
I  humbly  beg  your  pardon,  Colonel  Churchill,  and  I  beg 
your  consent  to  my  marriage  with  your  niece  —  " 

The  Colonel,  who  had  heard  so  far  in  stormy  silence,  broke 
in  with,  "Marry  my  niece,  sir!  I  had  rather  see  my  niece 
dead  and  laid  in  her  grave !  Consent !  I  'd  as  soon  consent 
to  her  death  or  dishonour!  Name  and  place!  you  neither 
have  them  nor  will  have  them ! "  He  turned  upon  Jacque 
line.  "I'll  forgive  you,"  he  said,  breathing  heavily,  "there 
in  the  library,  when  you  have  written  and  signed  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Lewis  Rand  explaining  that  both  he  and  you  were  mis 
taken  in  your  sentiments  towards  him.  I  '11  forgive  you 
then,  and  I  '11  do  my  best  to  forget.  But  not  else,  Jacqueline, 
not  else  on  God's  earth!  That's  sworn.  As  for  you,  sir,  I 
should  think  that  your  awakened  sense  of  propriety  might 
suggest  —  " 

"I  am  going,  sir,"  answered  Rand.  "I  return  to  the 
house  but  to  take  my  papers  from  the  blue  room.  Joab 
shall  saddle  my  horse  at  once.  You  shall  not  anger  me, 
Colonel  Churchill.  I  owe  you  too  much.  But  your  niece 
has  said  that  she  will  be  my  wife,  and  before  God,  she 
shall  be!  And  that's  sworn,  too,  sir!  I  leave  Fontenoy  at 


140  LEWIS   RAND 

once,  as  is  just,  but  I  shall  write  to  your  niece.  Part  us  you 
cannot  — ' 

"Jacqueline,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "the  sight  of  you  there 
beside  that  man  is  death  to  my  old  heart.  You  used  to  care 
—  you  used  to  be  a  good  child !  I  command  you  to  leave 
him;  I  command  you  to  say  good-bye  to  him  now,  at  once 
and  forever!  Tell  him  that  you  have  been  dreaming,  but 
that  now  you  are  awake.  God  knows  that  I  think  that  I 
am  dreaming!  Come,  come,  my  little  Jack!" 

"Will  you  tell  me  that  ?"  asked  Rand.  "Will  you  tell  me 
that,  Jacqueline  ? " 

"No!"  cried  Jacqueline;  "I  will  tell  you  only  the  truth! 
I  love  you  —  love  you.  Oh,  my  heart,  my  heart!"  She 
turned  from  them  both,  sank  down  upon  the  summer- 
house  step,  and  lay  with  her  forehead  on  her  arm. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then,  "You  see,"  said  Rand, 
not  without  gentleness,  to  the  elder  man. 

Colonel  Churchill  leaned  on  his  walking-stick,  and  his 
breath  came  heavily.  He  wondered  where  Edward  was  — 
Edward  could  always  find  words  that  would  hurt.  At  last, 
"We  part,  Mr.  Rand,"  he  said,  with  dignity.  "In  parting 
I  have  but  to  say  that  your  conduct  has  been  such  as  I  might 
have  expected,  and  that  I  conceive  it  to  be  my  duty  to  pro 
tect  my  misguided  niece  from  the  consequences  of  her  folly. 
I  warn  you  neither  to  write  to  her  nor  to  attempt  to  see  her. 
If  she  writes  to  you  otherwise  than  as  I  shall  dictate ;  if  she 
does  not,  when  she  has  bethought  herself,  break  with  you 
once  and  forever,  —  all 's  over  between  us !  She  is  no  niece 
of  mine.  She  is  dead  to  me.  I  '11  not  speak  to  her,  nor 
willingly  look  upon  her  face  again.  I  am  a  man  of  my  word. 
I  have  the  honour,  sir,  to  bid  you  a  very  good-day." 
He  drew  out  and  looked  at  his  ponderous  watch.  "I  shall 
remain  here  with  my  niece  for  an  hour.  Perhaps  in  that  time 


IN   THE  GARDEN  141 

she  will  awaken  to  her  old  truth,  her  old  duty;  and  perhaps 
you  will  require  no  more  in  which  to  gather  your  papers  and 
remove  yourself  from  Fontenoy  ? " 

"I  shall  not  need  the  hour,"  answered  Rand.  "I  will  be 
gone  presently.  God  knows,  sir,  I  had  not  thought  to  go  this 
way."  He  turned  from  his  host  and  bent  for  a  moment  over 
Jacqueline.  "Good-bye,"  he  said.  "Good-bye  for  a  little 
while!  My  heart  is  in  your  hands.  I  trust  you  for  constancy. 
Good-bye  —  good-bye ! " 

He  was  gone,  moving  rapidly  toward  the  house.  Colonel 
Churchill  drew  a  long  sigh,  wiped  his  face  with  his  handker 
chief,  and  looked  miserably  up  to  the  green  boughs  where 
the  mockingbird  was  singing.  He  wished  again  for  Edward, 
and  he  wished  that  Henry  had  not  died.  He  believed  in 
Heaven,  and  he  knew  that  Henry  was  there,  but  then  the 
thought  came  into  his  mind  that  Henry  was  here,  too,  in 
the  person  of  his  child,  prone  on  the  summer-house  steps. 
Henry,  also,  had  been  a  man  of  his  word,  had  known  his 
own  mind,  and  exercised  his  will.  There,  too,  had  been 
the  veil  of  sweetness!  The  Colonel  sighed  more  heavily, 
wished  again  impatiently  for  Edward,  then  marched  to  the 
summer-house,  and,  sitting  down,  began  to  reason  with 
Henry's  daughter. 

Rand  passed  through  the  Fontenoy  garden,  in  his  heart  a 
pain  that  was  triumph,  an  exaltation  that  was  pain.  Mount 
ing  the  porch  steps,  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  Major 
Edward  playing  Patience  in  the  shade  of  the  climbing  rose. 
The  player  started  violently.  "I  thought,  sir,"  he  said, 
wheeling  in  his  chair,  "  I  thought  you  yet  in  the  blue  room ! 
How  the  deuce!  —  I  was  on  guard — "  the  Major  caught 
himself.  "I  was  waiting  to  renew  our  very  interesting  dis 
cussion.  Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"I  have  been  in  the  garden,"  said  Rand.    He  hesitated, 


142  LEWIS    RAND 

standing  by  the  table.  There  was  a  debate  in  his  mind. 
"Should  I  speak  to  him,  too  ?  What  is  the  use  ?  He'll  be  no 
kinder  to  her ! "  He  put  out  his  hand  uncertainly,  and  touched 
one  of  the  Major's  cards.  "Is  it  an  interesting  game?" 

"I  find  it  so/'  answered  the  other  dryly.  "Else  I  should 
not  play  it." 

"Why  do  you  like  it?  It  is  poor  amusement  to  play 
against  yourself." 

"I  like  it,  sir,"  snapped  the  Major,  "because  I  am  as 
sured  of  playing  against  a  gentleman." 

Rand  let  his  hand  fall  from  the  table.  "Major  Churchill, 
I  am  leaving  Fontenoy  immediately.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
tell  you  what  I  have  just  told  your  brother:  I  love  Miss 
Churchill—" 

The  Major  rose  from  his  chair.  "  Have  you  spoken  to  her  ? " 

"Yes,  I  have  asked  her  to  marry  me." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  Major  huskily.  "May  I  ask  what 
Miss  Churchill  replied?" 

"Miss  Churchill  loves  me,"  answered  Rand.  "She  will 
do  what  I  wish." 

The  silence  grew  painful.  The  words,  acid  and  intolerable, 
that  Rand  expected,  did  not  seem  to  come  easily  to  the  Major's 
dry  lips.  He  looked  small,  thin,  and  frozen,  grey  and  drawn 
of  face,  as  though  the  basilisk  had  confronted  him.  When 
at  last  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  curiously  remote  voice,  lucid  and 
emotionless.  "Well,  why  not  ?  All  beliefs  die  —  die  and  rot! 
A  vain  show  —  and  this,  too,  was  of  the  charnel ! " 

He  turned  upon  Rand  as  if  he  would  have  struck  him, 
then  drew  back,  made  in  the  air  an  abrupt  and  threatening 
gesture,  and  with  a  sound  like  a  stifled  cry  passed  the  other 
and  entered  the  house.  Rand  heard  him  go  down  the  hall, 
and  the  closing  of  the  library  door. 

The  young  man's  heart  was  hot  and  sore.  He  went  up 


IN   THE   GARDEN  143 

to  the  blue  room,  where  he  found  Joab  packing  his  port 
manteau.  A  few  peremptory  words  sent  the  man  to  the 
stables,  while  his  master  with  rapid  fingers  collected  and  laid 
together  the  papers  with  which  the  room  was  strewn.  The 
task  finished,  he  threw  himself  for  a  moment  into  the  great 
chair  and  looked  about  him.  He  was  capable  of  great  attach 
ment  to  place,  and  he  had  loved  this  room.  Now  the  man 
darin  smiled  obliquely  on  him,  and  the  moon-clock  ticked 
the  passing  moments,  the  impossible  blue  roses  flowered  on 
thornless  stems,  and  the  picture  of  Washington  looked  calmly 
down  from  the  opposite  wall.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
and  sat  still,  trying  to  calm  the  storm  within  him.  There 
were  in  his  mind  joy  and  gratitude,  hurt  pride  and  bitter 
indignation,  and  a  thousand  whirling  thoughts  as  to  ways 
and  means,  the  overcoming  of  obstacles,  and  the  building 
of  a  palace  fit  to  shelter  his  happiness.  The  clock  struck, 
and  he  started  up.  Not  for  much  would  he  have  overstayed 
his  hour. 

He  left  the  room  and  passed  through  the  silent  house, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away.  A  crowd  had  witnessed 
his  arrival  there;  only  a  few  wondering  servants  were  gathered 
to  see  him  depart.  He  gave  them  gold,  but  though  they 
thanked  him,  they  thanked  him  with  a  difference.  He  felt 
it,  and  that  more  keenly  than  he  might  have  felt  a  greater 
thing.  Could  he  not  even  give  largesse  like  one  to  the  man 
ner  born,  or  was  it  only  that  all  the  air  was  hostile  ?  He  rode 
away.  From  the  saddle  he  could  have  seen  the  distant  sum 
mer-house,  but  he  forced  himself  not  to  look.  The  lawn  fell 
away  behind  him,  and  the  trees  hid  the  house.  The  gleam 
of  a  white  pillar  kept  with  him  for  a  while,  but  the  driveway 
bent,  and  that  too  was  hidden.  With  Joab  behind  him  on  the 
iron  grey,  he  passed  through  the  lower  gate,  and  took  the  way 
that  led  to  Mrs.  Jane  Selden's  on  the  Three-Notched  Road. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    MARRIAGE    AT   SAINT   MARGARET'S 

YES,"  said  Unity.  "That  is  just  what  the  Argus 
says.  'On  Thursday  M.  Jerome  Buonaparte,  the 
younger  brother  of  the  First  Consul,  passed  through 
Annapolis  with  his  bride  —  lately  the  lively  and  agreeable 
Miss  Elizabeth  Patterson  of  Baltimore.  M.  Buonaparte's 
Secretary  and  Physician  followed  in  a  chaise,  and  the  valets 
and  femmes-de-chambre  in  a  coach.  The  First  Consul's 
brother  wore  — '  I  protest  I  don't  care  what  the  First  Con 
sul's  brother  wore !  The  Argus  is  not  gallant.  If  you  were 
the  First  Consul's  brother  —  " 

"The  Argus  should  describe  the  bride's  dress,  not  mine," 
said  Fairfax  Cary.  "How  lovely  you  would  look,  in  that 
gown  you  have  on,  in  a  curricle  drawn  by  grey  horses! 
What  is  the  stuff — roses  and  silver?" 

"Heigho!"  sighed  Unity.  " 'T  is  a  bridesmaid's  gown. 
I  am  out  with  men.  I  shall  never  wear  a  bride's  gown." 

"Don't  jest  — " 

"Jest!  I  never  felt  less  like  jesting!  I  laugh  to  keep  from 
crying.  Here  is  the  coach." 

The  great  Fontenoy  coach  with  the  Churchill  arms  on 
the  panel  drew  up  before  the  porch.  It  was  drawn  by  four 
horses,  and  driven  by  old  Philip  in  a  wig  and  nosegay.  Mingo 
was  behind,  and  Phyllis's  Jim  and  a  little  darky  ran  along 
side  to  open  the  door  and  let  down  the  steps.  "All  alone  in 
that ! "  exclaimed  Cary.  "  I  shall  ride  with  you  as  far  as  the 
old  road  to  Greenwood.  Don't  say  no!  I'll  hold  your 
flowers." 


A  MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     145 

Unity  looked  down  upon  the  roses  in  her  arms.  "They 
should  all  be  white/'  she  said.  "I  feel  as  though  I  were  go 
ing  to  see  them  bury  Jacqueline."  Her  voice  broke,  but  she 
bit  her  lip,  forced  back  the  tears,  and  tried  to  laugh.  "I'm 
not.  I  'm  going  to  her  wedding  —  and  people  know  their 
own  business  best  —  and  she  may  be  as  happy  as  the  day 
is  long !  He  is  fascinating,  —  he  is  dreadfully  fascinating,  - 
and  we  have  no  right  to  say  he  is  not  good  —  and  everybody 
knows  he  is  going  to  be  great !  Why  should  n't  she  be  happy  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Gary.  "  But  I  know  she  won't 
be." 

"You  say  that,"  cried  Unity,  turning  on  him,  "because 
you  are  a  Federalist!  Well,  women  are  neither  Federalists 
nor  Republicans !  They  have  no  party  and  no  soul  of  their 
own !  They  are  just  what  the  person  they  love  is  — " 

"That's  not  so,"  said  Gary. 

"Oh,  I  know  it's  not  so!"  agreed  Miss  Dandridge,  with 
impatience.  "It's  just  one  of  those  things  that  are  said! 
But  it  remains  that  Jacqueline  must  be  happy.  I'll  break 
my  heart  if  she 's  not !  And  as  long  as  I  live,  I  '11  say  that 
Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward  are  to  blame — " 
"Where  are  they?" 

"Oh, Uncle  Dick  is  in  the  long  field  watching  the  thresh 
ing,  and  Uncle  Edward  is  in  the  library  reading  Swift !  And 
Aunt  Nancy  has  ordered  black  scarfs  to  be  put  above  the 
pictures  of  Uncle  Henry  and  of  Great-Aunt  Jacqueline  that 
Jacqueline's  named  for.  Oh,  oh!" 

"And  Deb  ?"  asked  the  young  man  gently. 

"Deb  is  at  Cousin  Jane  Selden's.  She  has  been  there 
with  Jacqueline  a  week  —  she  and  Miranda.  Oh,  I  know  — 
Uncle  Dick  is  a  just  man !  He  does  what  he  thinks  is  the 
just  thing.  Deb  shall  go  visit  her  sister  —  every  now  and 
then!  And  all  that  Uncle  Henry  left  Jacqueline  goes  with 


146  LEWIS   RAND 

her  —  there  are  slaves  and  furniture  and  plate,  and  she 
has  money,  too.  The  Rands  don't  usually  marry  so  well  — 
There !  I,  too,  am  bitter !  But  Uncle  Dick  swears  that  he  will 
never  see  Jacqueline  again  —  and  all  the  Churchills  keep 
their  word.  Oh,  family  quarrels!  Deb's  coming  back  to 
Fontenoy  to-morrow  —  poor  little  chick !  Aunt  Nancy 's  got 
to  have  those  mourning  scarfs  taken  away  before  she  comes ! " 

Miss  Dandridge  descended  the  porch  steps  to  the  waiting 
coach.  The  younger  Gary  handed  her  in  with  great  care  of 
her  flowers  and  gauzy  draperies,  and  great  reluctance  in 
relinquishing  her  hand.  "I  may  come  too?"  he  asked, 
"just  as  far  as  the  old  Greenwood  road  ?  I  hate  to  see  you 
go  alone." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  answered  Miss  Dandridge  absently,  and, 
sinking  into  a  corner,  regarded  through  the  window  the  July 
morning.  "Those  black  scarfs  hurt  me,"  she  said,  and  the 
July  morning  grew  misty.  "It's  not  death  to  marry  the 
man  one  loves ! " 

The  coach  rolled  down  the  drive  to  the  gate,  and  out 
upon  the  sunny  road.  The  dust  rose  in  clouds,  whitening  the 
elder,  the  stickweed,  and  the  blackberry  bushes.  The  locusts 
shrilled  in  the  parching  trees.  The  sky  was  cloudless  and 
intensely  blue,  marked  only  by  the  slow  circling  of  a  buzzard 
far  above  the  pine-tops.  There  were  many  pines,  and  the 
heat  drew  out  their  fragrance,  sharp  and  strong.  The  moss 
that  thatched  the  red  banks  was  burned,  and  all  the  ferns 
were  shrivelling  up.  Everywhere  butterflies  fluttered,  lizards 
basked  in  the  sun,  and  the  stridulation  of  innumerable  in 
sects  vexed  the  ear.  The  way  was  long,  and  the  coach  lum 
bered  heavily  through  the  July  weather.  "  I  do  not  want  to 
talk,"  sighed  Unity.  "My  heart  is  too  heavy." 

"My  own  is  not  light,"  said  Gary  grimly.  "I  am  sorry 
for  my  brother." 


A  MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     147 

"We  are  all  sorry  for  your  brother,"  Unity  answered  gently, 
and  then  would  speak  no  more,  but  sat  in  her  silver  and  roses, 
looking  out  into  the  heat  and  light.  The  Greenwood  road 
was  reached  in  silence.  Gary  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
and  called  to  old  Philip.  The  coach  came  slowly  to  a  stop 
before  a  five-barred  gate.  Mingo  opened  the  door,  and  the 
young  man  got  out.  "Unless  you  think  I  might  go  with  you 
as  far  as  the  church  — "  he  suggested,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door.  Unity  shook  her  head.  "You  can't  do  that,  you  know! 
Besides,  I  am  going  first  to  Cousin  Jane  Selden's.  Good 
bye.  Oh,  it  is  going  to  be  a  happy  marriage  —  it  must  be 
happy!" 

"What  is  going  to  make  it  happy?"  demanded  Gary 
gloomily.  "It's  a  match  against  nature!  When  I  think  of 
your  cousin  in  that  old  whitewashed  house,  and  every  night 
Gideon  Rand's  ghost  making  tobacco  around  it !  I  am  glad 
that  Ludwell  has  gone  to  Richmond.  He  looks  like  a  ghost 
himself." 

"Oh,  the  world!"  sighed  Unity.  "Tell  Philip,  please, 
to  drive  on." 

"I'll  ride  over  to  Fontenoy  to-morrow,"  said  Fairfax 
Gary.  "  'Twill  do  you  good  to  talk  it  over." 

The  coach  went  heavily  on  through  the  dust  of  the  Three- 
Notched  Road.  The  locusts  shrilled,  the  pines  gave  no  shade, 
in  the  angle  of  the  snake  fences  pokeberry  and  sumach 
drooped  their  dusty  leaves.  The  light  air  in  the  pine-tops 
sounded  like  the  murmur  of  a  distant  sea,  too  far  off  for 
coolness.  Unity  sighed  with  the  oppression  of  it  all.  The 
flowers  were  withering  in  her  lap.  After  a  long  hour  the  road 
turned,  discovering  yellow  wheat-fields  and  shady  orchards, 
the  gleam  of  a  shrunken  stream  and  a  brick  house  embowered 
in  wistaria.  Around  the  horse-block  and  in  the  shade  of  a 
great  willow  were  standing  a  coach  or  two,  a  chaise,  and  sev- 


148  LEWIS   RAND 

eral  saddle-horses.  "All  of  them  Republican,"  commented 
Unity. 

At  the  door  she  was  met  by  Cousin  Jane  Selden  herself, 
a  thin  and  dark  old  lady  with  shrewd  eyes  and  a  determined 
chin.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Unity,  though  I  should  have 
been  more  glad  to  see  Richard  and  Edward  Churchill!  'Woe 
to  a  stiff-necked  generation ! '  says  the  Bible.  Well !  you 
are  fine  enough,  child,  and  I  honour  you  for  it !  There  are  a 
few  people  in  the  parlour  —  just  those  who  go  to  church 
with  us.  The  clock  has  struck,  and  we'll  start  in  half  an 
hour.  Jacqueline  is  in  her  room,  and  when  she  does  n't  look 
like  an  angel  she  looks  like  her  mother.  You  had  best  go 
upstairs.  Mammy  Chloe  dressed  her." 

Unity  mounted  the  dark,  polished  stairs  to  an  upper  hall 
where  stood  a  tall  clock  and  a  spindle-legged  table  with  a 
vast  jar  of  pot-pourri.  A  door  opened,  framing  Jacqueline, 
dressed  in  white,  and  wearing  her  mother's  wedding  veil. 
"I  knew  your  step,"  she  said.  "Oh,  Unity,  you  are  good  to 
come!" 

In  the  bedroom  they  embraced.  "Wild  horses  couldn't 
have  kept  me  from  coming!"  declared  Unity  with  resolute 
gaiety.  "Whichever  married  first,  the  other  was  to  be  brides 
maid  !  —  we  arranged  that  somewhere  in  the  dark  ages !  Oh, 
Jacqueline,  you  are  like  a  princess  in  a  picture-book!" 

"And  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward?"  asked  Jac 
queline,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Well,  the  Churchills  are  obstinate  folk,  as  we  all  know!" 
answered  Unity  cheerfully.  "But  I  think  time  will  help. 
They  can't  go  on  hating  forever.  Uncle  Dick  is  in  the 
fields,  and  Uncle  Edward  is  in  the  library  reading.  There, 
there,  honey!" 

Mammy  Chloe  bore  down  upon  them  from  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  "Miss  Unity,  don'  you  mek  my  chile  cry  on 


A  MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     149 

her  weddin'  mahnin' !  Hit  ain't  lucky  to  cry  befo'  de  ring 's 
on!" 

"  I  'm  not  crying,  Mammy,"  said  Jacqueline.  "  I  wish  that  I 
could  cry.  It  is  you,  Unity,  that  are  like  a  princess  in  your  rose 
and  silver,  with  your  dear  red  lips,  and  your  dear  black  eyes ! 
Isn't  she  lovely,  Mammy?"  She  came  close  to  her  cousin 
and  pinned  a  small  brooch  in  the  misty  folds  above  the  white 
bosom.  "This  is  my  gift  —  it  is  mother's  pearl  brooch.  Oh, 
Unity,  don't  think  too  ill  of  me ! " 

"Think  ill!"  cried  Unity,  with  spirit.  "I  think  only  good 
of  you.  I  think  you  are  doing  perfectly  right !  I  '11  wear  your 
pearl  always  —  you  were  always  like  a  pearl  to  me ! " 

"Even  pearls  have  a  speck  at  heart,"  said  Jacqueline. 
"  And  there 's  nothing  perfectly  right  —  or  perfectly  wrong. 
But  most  things  cannot  be  helped.  Some  day,  perhaps,  at 
home  —  at  Fontenoy  —  they  will  think  of  the  time  when 
they  were  young — and  in  love."  She  turned  and  took  up 
her  gloves  from  the  dressing-table.  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from 
Ludwell  Gary,"  she  said,  then  spoke  over  her  shoulder  with 
sudden  fire.  "He  is  the  only  one  of  all  I  know,  the  only  one 
of  all  my  people,  who  has  been  generous  enough,  and  just 
enough,  to  praise  the  man  I  marry!" 

"Oh,  Jacqueline!"  cried  Unity,  "I  will  praise  him  to  the 
skies,  if  only  he  will  make  you  happy !  Does  not  every  one 
say  that  he  has  a  great  future  ?  and  surely  he  deserves  all 
credit  for  rising  as  he  has  done  —  and  he  is  most  able  - 

"And  good,"  said  Jacqueline  proudly.  "Don't  praise  him 
any  more,  Unity."  She  put  her  hands  on  her  cousin's  shoul 
ders  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  forehead.  "Now  and  then, 
my  dear,  will  you  come  to  see  me  on  the  Three-Notched 
Road  ?  I  shall  have  Deb  one  week  out  of  six." 

"I  shall  come,"  answered  Unity.    "Where  is  Deb?" 

"She  is  asleep.  She  cried  herself  to  sleep." 


150  LEWIS   RAND 

"Chillern  cry  jes'  fer  nothin'  at  all,"  put  in  Mammy 
Chloe.  "Don' you  worry,  honey!  Miss  Deb's  all  right.  I 's 
gwine  wake  her  now,  an'  wash  her  face,  an'  slip  on  her  li'l 
white  dress.  She's  gwine  be  jes'  ez  peart  an'  ez  happy!  My 
Lawd!  Miss  Deb  jes'  gainin'  a  brother!" 

"Jacqueline,"  came  Cousin  Jane  Selden's  voice  at  the 
door.  "It  is  almost  time." 

The  coach  of  the  day  was  an  ark  in  capacity,  and  woman's 
dress  as  sheathlike  as  a  candle  flame.  Jacqueline,  Unity, 
Deb,  Cousin  Jane  Selden,  and  a  burly  genial  gentleman  of 
wide  family  connections  and  Republican  tenets  travelled 
to  church  in  the  same  vehicle  and  were  not  crowded.  The 
coach  was  Cousin  Jane  Selden's;  the  gentleman  was  of 
some  remote  kinship,  and  had  been  Henry  Churchill's 
schoolmate,  and  he  was  going  to  give  Jacqueline  away.  He 
talked  to  Cousin  Jane  Selden  about  the  possibilities  of  olive 
culture,  and  he  showed  Deb  a  golden  turnip  of  a  watch  with 
jingling  seals.  Jacqueline  and  Unity  sat  in  silence,  Jacque 
line's  arm  around  Deb.  Behind  their  coach  came  the  small 
party  gathered  at  Mrs.  Selden's.  The  church  was  three 
miles  down  the  road.  It  was  now  afternoon,  and  the  heat 
lay  like  a  veil  upon  wood  and  field  and  the  foot-hills  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  The  dust  rose  behind  the  carriage,  then  sank 
upon  and  further  whitened  the  milkweed  and  the  love  vine 
and  the  papaw  bushes.  The  blaze  of  light,  the  incessant 
shrilling  of  the  locusts,  the  shadeless  pines,  the  drouth,  the 
long,  dusty  road  —  all  made,  thought  Unity,  a  dry  and  fierce 
monotony  that  seared  the  eyes  and  weighed  upon  the  soul. 
She  wondered  of  what  Jacqueline  was  thinking. 

The  Church  of  Saint  Margaret  looked  forth  with  a  small, 
white-pillared  face,  from  a  grove  of  oaks.  It  had  a  flowery 
churchyard,  and  around  it  a  white  paling,  keeping  in  the 
dead,  and  keeping  out  all  roaming  cattle.  There  was  a 


A  MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     151 

small  cracked  bell,  and  the  swallows  forever  circled  above 
the  eaves  and  in  and  out  of  the  belfry.  Without  the  yard, 
beneath  the  oaks,  were  a  horserack  and  a  shed  for  carriages. 
To-day  there  were  horses  at  the  rack  and  tied  beneath 
the  trees;  coaches,  chaises,  and  curricles,  not  a  few,  be 
neath  the  shed  and  scattered  through  the  oak  grove.  The 
church  within  was  all  rustle  and  colour.  Saint  Margaret's 
had  rarely  seen  such  a  gathering,  or  such  a  wholly  amicable 
one,  for  to-day  all  the  pews  were  of  one  party.  The  wedding 
was  one  to  draw  the  curious,  the  resolutely  Republican, 
the  kindred  and  friends  of  Jefferson,  —  who,  it  was  known, 
had  sent  the  bride  a  valuable  present  and  a  long  letter,  — 
the  interested  in  Rand,  the  inimical,  for  party  and  other 
reasons,  to  the  Churchills  and  the  Carys.  The  county  knew 
that  Miss  Churchill  might  have  had  Greenwood.  The 
knowledge  added  piquancy  to  the  already  piquant  fact  that 
she  had  chosen  the  house  on  the  Three-Notched  Road. 
Colonel  Churchill  and  Major  Edward,  the  county  knew, 
would  not  come  to  the  wedding;  neither,  of  course,  would 
the  two  Carys;  neither,  it  appeared,  would  any  other  Federal 
ist.  The  rustling  pews  looked  to  all  four  corners  and  saw 
only  folk  of  one  watchword.  True,  under  the  gallery  was 
to  be  seen  Mr.  Pincornet,  fadedly  gorgeous  in  an  old  green 
velvet,  but  to  this  English  stock  Mr.  Pincornet  might  give 
what  word  he  chose;  he  remained  a  French  dancing  master. 
The  rustling  pews  nodded  and  smiled  to  each  other,  waiting 
to  see  Jacqueline  Churchill  come  up  the  aisle  in  bridal  lace. 
Under  the  gallery,  not  far  from  Mr.  Pincornet,  sat  Adam 
Gaudylock,  easy  and  tawny,  dressed  as  usual  in  his  fringed 
hunting-frock,  with  his  coonskin  cap  in  his  hand,  and  his 
gun  at  his  feet.  Beside  him  sat  Vinie  Mocket,  dressed  in  her 
best.  Vinie's  eyes  were  downcast,  and  her  hands  clasped  in 
her  lap.  She  wondered  —  poor  little  partridge !  —  why  she  was 


152  LEWIS   RAND 

there,  why  she  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  let  Mr.  Adam  per 
suade  her  into  coming.  Vinie  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  cry. 
Yet  not  for  worlds  would  she  have  left  Saint  Margaret's;  she 
wanted,  with  painful  curiosity,  to  see  the  figure  in  bridal  lace. 
She  wondered  where  Tom  was.  Tom  was  to  have  joined 
Mr.  Adam  and  herself  an  hour  ago.  The  bell  began  to 
ring,  and  all  the  gathering  rustled  loudly.  "She's  coming 
—  she's  coming!"  whispered  Vinie;  and  Adam,  "Why,  of 
course,  of  course,  little  partridge.  Now  don't  you  cry  — 
you  '11  be  walking  up  Saint  Margaret's  aisle  yourself  some 
day!" 

The  bell  ceased  to  ring.  Lewis  Rand  came  from  the  vestry 
and  stood  beside  the  chancel  rail.  A  sound  at  the  door,  a 
universal  turning  as  though  the  wind  bent  every  flower  in 
a  garden  —  and  Jacqueline  Churchill  came  up  the  aisle  be 
tween  the  coloured  lines.  Her  hand  was  upon  the  arm  of  her 
father's  schoolmate;  Unity  and  Deb  followed  her.  Rand 
met  her  at  the  altar,  and  the  old  clergyman  who  had  bap 
tized  her  married  them.  It  was  over,  from  the  "  Dearly  be 
loved,  we  are  gathered  here  together,"  to  the  "Until  Death 
shall  them  part!"  Lewis  and  Jacqueline  Rand  wrote  their 
names  in  the  register,  then  turned  to  receive  the  congratula 
tions  of  those  who  crowded  around  them,  to  smile,  and  say 
the  expected  thing.  Rand  stooped  and  kissed  Deb,  wrung  Mrs. 
Selden's  hand,  then  held  out  his  own  to  Unity  with  some 
thing  of  appeal  in  his  gesture  and  his  eyes.  Miss  Dandridge 
promptly  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked  at  him  with  her 
frank  and  brilliant  gaze.  "Now  that  we  are  cousins,"  she 
said,  "I  do  not  find  you  a  monster  at  all.  Make  her  happy, 
and  one  day  we  '11  all  be  friends."  "  I  will  — I  will ! "  answered 
Rand,  with  emotion,  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  and  was 
claimed  by  others  of  his  wedding  guests.  Jacqueline,  too, 
had  clung  at  first  to  Unity  and  Deb  and  Cousin  Jane  Selden, 


A  MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     153 

but  now  she  also  turned  from  the  old  life  to  the  new,  and 
greeted  with  a  smiling  face  the  people  of  her  husband's 
party.  Many,  of  course,  she  knew;  only  a  difference  of  opin 
ion  stood  between  them  and  the  Churchills;  but  others  were 
strangers  to  her  —  strangers  and  curious.  She  felt  it  in  the 
touch  of  their  hands,  in  the  stare  of  their  eyes,  and  her 
heart  was  vaguely  troubled.  She  saw  her  old  dancing 
master,  tiptoeing  on  the  edge  of  the  throng,  and  her  smile 
brought  Mr.  Pincornet,  his  green  velvet  and  powdered  wig, 
to  her  side.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  heart  and  bowed  as  to 
a  princess. 

"Ha !  Mr.  Pincornet,"  exclaimed  Rand,  "I  remember  our 
night  at  Monticello.  Now  I  have  a  teacher  who  will  be 
with  me  always !  —  Jacqueline,  I  want  you  to  speak  to  my 
old  friend,  Adam  Gaudylock." 

"Ah,  I  know  Mr.  Gaudylock,"  answered  Jacqueline,  and 
gave  the  hunter  both  her  hands.  "We  all  know  and  ad 
mire  and  want  to  be  friends  with  Adam  Gaudylock !  " 

The  picture  that  she  made  in  her  youth  and  beauty  and 
bridal  raiment  was  a  dazzling  one.  Adam  looked  at  her  so 
fully  and  so  long  that  she  blushed  a  little.  She  could  not 
read  the  thought  behind  his  blue  eyes.  "You  shall  be  my 
Queen  if  you  like,"  he  said  at  last,  and  Jacqueline  laughed, 
thinking  his  speech  the  woodsman's  attempt  to  say  a  pretty 
thing. 

Rand  drew  forward  with  determination  a  small  brown 
figure.    '"  Jacqueline,  this  is  another  good  friend  of  mine  - 
Miss  Lavinia  Mocket,  the  sister  of  my  law  partner.  —  Vinie, 
Vinie,  you  are  shyer  than  a  partridge!    You  shan't  scuttle 
away  until  you  have  spoken  to  my  wife ! " 

"Yeth,  thir,"  said  Vinie,  her  hand  in  Jacqueline's.  "I 
wish  you  well,  ma'am." 

Rand  and  Adam  laughed.    Jacqueline,  with  a  sudden  soft 


154  LEWIS   RAND 

kindliness  for  the  small  flushed  face  and  startled  eyes,  bent 
her  flower-crowned  head  and  kissed  Vinie.  "Oh!"  breathed 
Vinie.  "Yeth,  yeth,  Mith  Jacqueline,  I  thertainly  wish  you 
well!" 

"Where's  Tom  ?"  asked  Rand.  "Tom  should  be  here  —  " 
but  Vinie  had  slipped  from  the  ring  about  the  bride.  Adam 
followed ;  Mr.  Pincornet  had  already  faded  away.  More  im 
portant  folk  claimed  the  attention  of  the  newly  wedded  pair, 
and  Mr.  Mocket  had  not  yet  appeared  when  at  last  the 
gathering,  bound  for  the  wedding  feast  at  Mrs.  Selden's, 
deserted  the  interior  of  the  church  and  flowed  out  under 
the  portico  and  down  the  steps  to  the  churchyard  and  the 
coaches  waiting  in  the  road.  Lewis  and  Jacqueline  Rand 
came  down  the  path  between  the  midsummer  flowers.  They 
were  at  the  gate  when  the  sight  and  sound  of  a  horse  coming 
at  a  gallop  along  the  road  drew  from  Rand  an  exclamation. 
"Tom  Mocket  —  and  his  horse  in  a  lather!  There's  news 
of  some  kind  — " 

It  was  so  evident,  when  the  horse  and  rider  came  to  a  stop 
before  the  church  gate,  that  there  was  news  of  some  kind, 
that  the  wedding  guests,  gentle  and  simple,  left  all  talk  and 
all  employment  to  crowd  the  grassy  space  between  the  gate 
and  the  road  and  to  demand  enlightenment.  Mocket 's  horse 
was  spent,  and  Mocket's  face  was  fiery  red  and  eager.  He 
gasped,  and  wiped  his  face  with  a  great  flowered  handker 
chief.  "What  is  it,  man  ? "  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

Mocket  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  looked  the  assemblage 
over.  "We're  all  Republicans  —  hip,  hip,  hurrah!  Eh, 
Lewis  Rand,  I  've  brought  you  a  wedding  gift !  The  stage 
had  just  come  in  —  I  got  the  news  at  the  Eagle !  Hip, 
hip  —  " 

"Tom,"  said  Rand  at  his  bridle  rein,  "you've  been 
drinking.  Steady,  man.  Now,  what's  the  matter?" 


A   MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     155 

"A  wedding  gift!  a  wedding  gift!"  repeated  Tom,  taken 
with  his  own  conceit.  "And  I  never  was  soberer,  gentlemen, 
never  'pon  honour !  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  we  're  all  good  Repub 
licans —  but  you'll  never  guess  the  news! — The  Creole's 
dead!" 

"No!"  cried  Rand. 

There  arose  an  uproar  of  excited  voices.  "Yes,  yes,  it's 
true!"  shouted  Mocket.  "The  stage  brought  it.  He  was 
challenged  by  Aaron  Burr.  They  met  at  a  place  named 
Weehawken.  Burr's  first  shot  ended  it.  —  Sandy '11  trouble 
us  no  more!" 

"It's  rumour—" 

"No,  no,  it's  gospel  truth!  There's  a  messenger  from  the 
President,  and  letters  from  all  quarters.  He's  dead,  and 
Burr 's  in  hiding !  Gad !  We  '11  have  a  rouse  at  the  Eagle 
to-night !  Blue  lights  for  Assumption  and  Funding  and  the 
Sedition  Bill  and  Taxes  and  Standing  Armies  and  the  British 
Alliance  — 

"  Oh,  Alexander,  King  of  Macedon, 
Where  is  your  namesake,  Andy  Hamilton  ? 

In  a  hotter  place,  I  hope,  than  Saint  Kitts!" 

"Hush!"  said  Rand.  "Don't  be  ranting  like  a  Mohawk! 
When  a  man's  dead,  it's  time  to  let  him  rest." 

He  turned  to  the  excited  throng,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  was 
aware  that  Jacqueline  was  standing  white  and  frozen,  and 
that  Unity  was  trying  to  take  her  hand.  He  felt  for  her  an 
infinite  tenderness,  and  he  promised  himself  to  give  Tom 
Mocket  an  old-time  rating  for  at  least  one  ill-advised  expres 
sion.  Such  wedding  gifts  were  not  for  Jacqueline.  But  as 
for  the  news  —  Rand  felt  his  cheek  grow  hot  and  his  eyes 
glow.  In  all  the  history  of  the  country  this  was  the  decade 
in  which  political  animosity,  pure  and  simple,  went  its  great 
est  length.  Each  party  thought  of  the  struggle  as  a  battle- 


156  LEWIS   RAND 

field;  the  Federalist  strength  was  already  broken,  and  now 
if  the  leader  was  down,  it  was  not  in  fighting  and  Republi 
can  nature  to  restrain  the  wild  cheer  for  the  rout  that  must 
follow.  Rand  was  a  fighter  too,  and  a  captain  of  fighters,  and 
the  hundred  whirling  thoughts,  the  hundred  chances,  the 
sense  of  victory,  and  the  savage  joy  in  a  foe's  defeat  —  all  the 
feeling  that  swelled  his  heart  —  left  him  unabashed.  But 
he  thought  of  Jacqueline,  and  he  tried  to  choose  his  words. 
There  would  be  now,  he  knew,  no  wedding  feast  at  Mrs. 
Selden's.  Randolphs,  Carrs,  Coles,  Carters,  Dabneys,  Gor 
dons,  Meriwethers,  and  Minors  —  all  would  wish  to  hurry 
away.  Plantation,  office,  or  tavern,  there  would  be  letters 
waiting,  journals  to  read,  men  to  meet,  committees,  clamour, 
and  debate.  Of  the  ruder  sort  who  had  crowded  to  the 
church,  many  were  already  on  the  point  of  departure, 
mounting  their  horses,  preparing  for  a  race  to  the  nearest 
tavern  and  newspaper.  "Gentlemen,"  exclaimed  Rand,  "if 
it 's  true  news  —  if  we  have  indeed  to  deplore  General 
Hamilton's  death — " 

"' Deplore!'"  cried  Mocket. 

"Deplore!"'  echoed  bluntly  a  Republican  of  promi 
nence.  "Don't  let's  be  hypocrites,  Mr.  Rand.  We'll  leave 
the  Federalists  to  ' deplore' — " 

"Oh,  I'll  deplore  him  with  pleasure!"  cried  a  third.  "It 
won't  hurt  to  drop  a  tear  —  but  for  all  that  it 's  the  greatest 
news  since  1800!" 

"Hip,  hip,  hurrah!" 

"Weehawken!  where 's  Weehawken?  What's  Burr  in 
hiding  for  ?  Can't  a  gentleman  fight  a  duel  ?  Let  him  come 
down  here,  and  we'll  give  him  a  triumph!" 

" '  Deplore!'"  — 

"  I  chose  my  word  badly,"  said  Rand,  with  the  good-nature 
that  always  disarmed ;  "  I  shall  not  weep  over  my  enemy,  I 


A   MARRIAGE  AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     157 

only  mean  that  I  would  not  ignobly  exult.  Of  course,  sir, 
it  is  great  news  —  the  very  greatest !  And  all  here  will  now 
want  the  leisure  of  the  day/* 

"Tell  them,  Lewis,  that  I'll  excuse  them,"  said  Cousin 
Jane  Selden.  "We  won't  have  a  feast  on  the  day  of  a  funeral." 

A  little  later,  deep  in  the  embrace  of  the  old  Selden  coach, 
husband  and  wife  began  their  journey  to  the  house  on  the 
Three-Notched  Road.  In  the  minutes  that  followed  the  dis 
posal  of  their  wedding  guests  it  had  been  settled  that  they 
would  not  return  to  Mrs.  Selden's  —  it  was  best  to  go  home 
instead.  Cousin  Jane  would  take  Deb;  Unity  must  return 
at  once  to  Fontenoy.  Hamilton  and  Edward  Churchill  had 
served  together  on  Washington's  staff;  of  late  years  they  had 
seldom  met,  but  the  friendship  remained.  Unity  knew,  but 
would  not  speak  of  it,  that  Uncle  Edward  had  finished,  only 
the  night  before,  a  long  letter  to  his  old  comrade-at-arms. 
With  the  exception  of  Deb,  all  the  little  party  were  aware 
that  Jacqueline  Rand's  chances  for  forgiveness  from  her 
uncles  were  measurably  slighter  for  this  day's  tidings.  She 
seemed  dazed,  pale  as  her  gown,  but  very  quiet.  She  held 
Deb  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  Unity  and  Cousin  Jane  Selden. 
Her  husband  lifted  her  into  the  coach,  wrung  the  others' 
hands,  and  followed  her.  "Good-bye,  Lewis,"  said  Mrs. 
Selden  at  the  door.  "  I  '11  send  a  bowl  of  arrack  to  your  men, 
and  I  '11  ride  over  to-morrow  to  see  Jacqueline.  Good-bye, 
children,  and  God  bless  you  both ! " 

The  coach  and  four  took  the  dusty  road.  A  turn,  and  Saint 
Margaret's  was  hidden,  another,  and  they  were  in  a  wood  of 
beech  and  maple.  The  heat  of  the  day  was  broken,  and  a 
wind  was  blowing.  Rand  took  Jacqueline's  hands,  unclasped 
and  chafed  them.  "So  cold!"  he  said.  "Why  could  we  not 
have  heard  this  news  to-morrow!" 


158  LEWIS   RAND 

She  shuddered  strongly.  "The  noble  —  the  great  — "  her 
voice  broke. 

"Is  it  so  you  think  of  him  ?"  he  asked.  "Well  —  I,  too, 
will  call  him  noble  and  great  —  to-day. 

"  No  more  for  him  the  warmth  of  the  bright  sun; 
Nor  blows  upon  his  brow  the  wind  of  night ! 

He 's  gone  —  and  we  all  shall  go.  But  this  is  our  wedding 
day.  Let  us  forget  —  let  us  forget  all  else  but  that ! " 

"I  grieve  for  the  country,"  she  said. 

He  kissed  her  hand.  "Poor  country!  But  her  sons  die 
every  day.  She  is  like  Nature  —  she  takes  no  heed.  Let  us, 
too,  forget ! " 

"Oh,  his  poor  wife  —  " 

Rand  drew  her  to  him.  "Will  you  mourn  for  me  when  I 
am  dead?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "We  will  die  together.  —  Oh,  Lewis, 
Lewis,  Lewis ! " 

"You  promised  that  you  would  be  happy,"  he  said,  and 
kissed  her.  "You  promised  you  would  not  let  Fontenoy  and 
the  things  of  Fontenoy  stand  like  a  spectre  between  us. 
Forget  this,  too.  Everywhere  there  is  dying.  But  it  is  our 
wedding  day  —  and  I  love  you  madly  —  and  life  and  the 
kingdoms  of  life  lie  before  us !  If  you  are  not  happy,  how 
can  I  be  so  ? " 

"But  I  am!"  she  cried,  and  showed  him  a  glowing  face. 
"I  am  happier  than  the  happiest!"  • 

The  wood  thinned  into  glades  where  the  shadows  of  beech 
and  maple  were  beginning  to  be  long  upon  the  grass;  then, 
in  the  afternoon  light,  the  coach  entered  open  country,  fields 
of  ox-eyed  daisies,  and  tall  pine  trees  standing  singly. 

"I  never  came  this  far,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  never  saw 
the  house." 


A   MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     159 

"It  is  there  where,  the  smoke  rises  beyond  that  tobacco- 
field,"  answered  Rand.  "All  the  tobacco  shall  be  changed 
into  wheat." 

They  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  —  a  long  storey-and-a- 
half  structure  of  logs,  with  two  small  porches  and  a  great 
earthen  chimney.  Pine  trees  gave  a  scanty  shade.  House  and 
outbuildings  and  fencing  had  all  been  freshly  whitewashed; 
over  the  porches  flourished  morning-glory  and  Madeira  vines, 
and  the  little  yard  was  bright  with  hollyhock  and  larkspur. 
Jacqueline  put  her  hand  in  her  husband's.  Rand  bent  and 
kissed  it  with  something  in  touch  and  manner  formal  and 
chivalrous.  "It  is  a  poor  house  for  you.  Very  soon  I  shall 
build  you  a  better." 

"I  want  no  better,"  she  answered.  "Have  you  not  lived 
here  all  these  years  ?" 

"Adam  called  you  Queen.   You  should  have  a  palace  —  " 

"If  I  am  Queen,  then  you  must  be  a  King.  I  think  it  is  a 
lovely  palace.  What  is  that  tree  by  the  gate  —  all  feathery 
pink?" 

"A  mimosa.  Mr.  Jefferson  gave  it  to  me.  It  is  like  you  — 
it  does  not  belong  on  the  Three-Notched  Road.  It  should 
stand  in  a  palace  garden  with  dim  alleys,  fountains,  and 
orange  groves."  He  ended  in  a  deeper  tone,  "Why  not? 
One  day  we  may  plant  a  mimosa  in  such  a  garden,  and  smile 
and  say,  'Do  you  remember  the  tree  —  do  you  remember  our 
wedding  day  ? '  Who  knows  —  who  knows  ? " 

"You  shall  stay  in  that  palace  all  alone,"  said  Jacqueline. 
"I  like  this  one  best." 

The  house  stood  back  from  the  road  in  its  clump  of  pines. 
The  coach  stopped,  and  Rand  and  Jacqueline,  descending, 
crossed  a  strip  of  short  grass  tufted  with  fennel  and  velvet 
mullein  to  the  gate  beneath  the  mimosa,  entered  the  gay 
little  yard,  and  moved  up  the  path  to  the  larger  of  the  two 


i6o  LEWIS   RAND 

porches.  They  were  at  home.  On  the  porch  to  welcome 
them  they  found  the  white  man  who  worked  on  shares  and 
oversaw  the  farm,  Joab  and  three  other  slaves  of  Rand's, 
Mammy  Chloe,  Hannah,  and  the  negro  men  who  belonged 
to  Jacqueline.  These  gave  a  noisy  greeting.  Rand  put 
money  into  the  hands  of  the  slaves  and  sent  them  away 
happy  to  the  tumble-down  quarter  behind  the  house.  The 
white  man  took  his  leave,  and  Mammy  Chloe  and  Han 
nah  retired  to  the  kitchen,  where  supper  was  in  prepara 
tion.  Rand  and  Jacqueline  entered  together  the  clean,  bare 
rooms. 

Later,  when  Hannah's  supper  had  been  praised  and  barely 
touched,  the  two  came  again  to  the  porch,  and  presently, 
hand  in  hand,  moved  down  the  steps,  and  over  the  dry  sum 
mer  grass  to  the  mimosa  at  the  gate.  Here  they  turned,  and 
in  the  gathering  dusk  looked  back  at  the  house,  the  sleeping 
pines,  and  all  the  shadowy  surrounding  landscape. 

"Hear  the  frogs  in  the  marsh!"  said  Rand.  "They  are 
excited  to-night.  They  know  I  have  brought  a  princess 
home." 

"Listen  to  the  cow-bells,"  she  said.  "I  love  to  hear  them, 
faint  and  far  like  that.  I  love  to  think  of  you,  a  little  bare 
foot  boy,  bringing  home  the  cows  —  and  never,  never  dream 
ing  once  of  me!" 

"When  could  that  have  been?"  he  asked.  "I  have 
always  dreamed  of  you  —  even  when  'twas  pain  to  dream! 
—  There  is  the  first  whip-poor-will.  Whip-poor-will!  Once 
it  had  the  loneliest  sound !  The  moon  is  growing  brighter. 
The  dark  has  come." 

"I  love  you,  Lewis." 

"Darling,  darling!  Listen!  that  is  the  night  horn.  The 
lights  are  out  in  the  quarter.  Do  you  hear  the  stream  —  our 
stream  —  hurrying  past  the  apple  tree  ?  It  is  hurrying  to  the 


A   MARRIAGE   AT   SAINT  MARGARET'S     161 

sea  —  the  great  sea.    We  've  put  out  to  sea  together  —  you 

and  I,  just  you  and  I!" 

"  Just  you  and  I ! "  she  echoed.  "  Oh,  bliss  to  be  together ! " 
"Let    us   go,"  he    whispered.    "Let    us  go  back   to  the 

house,"  and  with  his  arm  around  her,  they  moved  up  the 

path  between  the  flowers  that  had  closed  with  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    THREE-NOTCHED    ROAD 

LEWIS  RAND   and  his  wife  dwelt  that  summer  and 
autumn  in  the  house  on  the  Three-Notched  Road, 
and  were  happy  there.    If  the  ghost  of  Gideon  Rand 
walked,  the    place,    renovated,   clean,   bright,    and   homely 
sweet,  showed  no  consciousness  of  any  influence  of  the  dark. 
Passers-by  on  the  dusty  road  looked  curiously  at  the  gay 
little  yard  and  the  feathery  mimosa  and  the  house  behind 
the  pines.    "Lewis  Rand  lives  there,"  they  said,  and  made 
their  horses  go  more  slowly. 

The  pines  hid  the  porch  where  Jacqueline  sat  with  her 
work,  or,  hands  about  her  knees,  dreamed  the  hours  away. 
She  was  much  alone,  for  after  the  first  week  Rand  rode  daily 
to  his  office  in  Charlottesville.  There  was  no  reconciliation 
with  her  people.  All  her  things  had  been  sent  from  Fontenoy. 
Linen  that  had  been  her  mother's  lay  with  bags  of  lavender 
in  an  old  carved  chest  from  Santo  Domingo,  and  pieces  of 
slender,  inlaid  furniture  stood  here  and  there  in  the  room  they 
called  the  parlour.  Her  candlesticks  were  upon  the  mantel, 
and  her  harp  madfc  the  room's  chief  ornament.  Her  fortune, 
which  was  fair,  had  been  formally  made  over  to  her  and  to 
Rand.  She  was  glad  it  was  no  less ;  had  it  been  vastly  greater, 
she  would  only  have  thought,  "This  will  aid  him  the  more." 
The  little  place  was  very  clean,  very  sweet,  ordered,  quiet, 
and  lovable.  She  was  a  trained  housewife  as  well  as  the 
princess  of  his  story,  and  she  made  the  man  she  loved  believe 
in  Paradise.  Each  afternoon  when  he  left  the  jargon  and 
wrangling  of  the  courtroom  his  mind  turned  at  once  to  his 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  163 

home  and  its  genius.  All  the  way  through  the  town,  beckon 
ing  him  past  the  Eagle  and  past  every  other  house  or  office 
which  had  for  him  an  open  door,  he  saw  Jacqueline  waiting 
beneath  the  mimosa  at  the  gate,  clad  in  white,  her  dark  hair 
piled  high,  about  her  throat  a  string  of  coral  or  of  amber. 
Out  on  the  road,  beneath  the  forest  trees,  in  the  radiance  of 
the  evening,  he  rode  with  his  head  high  and  a  smile  within  his 
eyes.  All  the  scheming,  all  the  labour  and  strife  of  the  day,  fell 
from  him  like  rusty  armour,  and  his  spirit  bathed  itself  in  the 
thought  of  that  meeting.  She  did  not  always  await  him  at  the 
gate ;  sometimes  he  found  her  half  a  mile  from  home,  sitting 
in  the  sunset  light  upon  a  stone  beside  the  road.  Then  he  dis 
mounted,  kissed  her,  and  they  walked  together  back  to  their 
nest  in  the  tree  of  life.  Supper-time  would  follow,  with  the 
lighted  candles  and  the  fragrance  from  Hannah's  kitchen, 
and  the  little  humorous  talk  with  the  old,  fond,  familiar 
servants,  and  the  deeper  words  between  husband  and  wife  of 
things  done  or  to  be  done;  then  quiet  upon  the  porch,  long 
silences,  broken  sentences  of  deep  content,  while  the  glow 
faded  and  the  stars  came  out;  then  the  candles  again  and 
his  books  and  papers,  while  she  read  or  sewed  beside  him. 
When  his  task  was  done  she  sang  to  him,  and  so  drew  on  the 
hour  when  they  put  out  the  lights  and  entered  the  quiet,  spot 
less  chamber  where  the  windows  opened  to  the  east. 

Rand  worked  as  he  had  not  worked  before.  All  the  springs 
were  running,  all  the  bitter  wells  were  sweet ;  to  breathe  was 
to  draw  in  fulness  of  life,  and  all  things  were  plastic  to  his 
touch.  Love  became  genius,  and  dreaming  accomplishment. 
In  Albemarle,  in  Virginia,  in  the  country  at  large,  the  time 
was  one  of  excitement,  fevered  labour,  and  no  mean  reward. 
The  election  for  President  was  drawing  on.  Undoubtedly 
the  Republicans  and  Jefferson  would  sweep  the  country,  but 
it  behooved  them  to  sweep  it  clean.  The  Federalist  point  of 


164  LEWIS   RAND 

view  was  as  simple.  "Win!  but  we'll  not  make  broad  the 
paths  before  you!  Winning  shall  be  difficult."  The  parties 
worked  like  Trojans,  and  he  who  could  speak  spoke  as  often 
as  any  leader  of  heroic  times. 

At  court  house  and  at  tavern  banquets,  at  meetings 
here  and  meetings  there,  barbecues,  dinners,  races,  militia 
musters,  gatherings  at  crossroads  and  in  the  open  fields,  by 
daylight  and  by  candlelight  and  by  torchlight,  Republi 
can  doctrine  was  expounded,  and  Federalist  doctrine  made 
answer.  The  clash  of  the  brazen  shields  was  loud.  It  was  a 
forensic  people  and  a  plastic  time.  He  who  could  best  express 
his  thought  might  well,  if  there  were  power  in  the  thought, 
impress  it  so  deeply  that  it  would  become  the  hall-mark  of  his 
age.  His  chance  was  good.  Something  more  than  fame  of 
a  day  shone  and  beckoned  before  every  more  than  able  man. 
To  stamp  a  movement  of  the  human  mind,  to  stamp  an 
age,  to  give  the  design  to  one  gold  coin  from  the  mint  of 
Time,  —  what  other  prize  worth  striving  for  ?  The  design  ? 
—  one  thought  of  moderate  Liberty  and  the  head  of  Wash 
ington,  another  thought  of  Liberty  and  the  head  of  Jeffer 
son,  another  of  License  and  a  head  like  Danton's,  another 
of  Empire  and  a  conqueror's  head. 

In  Albemarle,  at  all  Republican  gatherings  the  man  most 
in  demand  was  Lewis  Rand;  and  the  surrounding  counties 
of  Fluvanna,  Amherst,  Augusta,  and  Orange  considered 
themselves  happy  if  he  could  be  drawn  to  this  or  that  mass 
meeting.  It  was  not  easy  to  attract  him.  He  never  consciously 
said  to  himself,  "  Be  chary  of  favours;  they  will  be  the  more 
prized " ;  he  said  instead,  "  I  '11  not  waste  an  arrow  where 
there's  no  gold  to  hit."  When  he  saw  that  it  was  worth  his 
while  to  go,  he  went,  and  sent  an  arrow  full  into  the  gold. 
Amherst  and  Augusta,  Fluvanna  and  Orange,  broke  into 
applause  and  prophecy,  while  upon  each  return  home  Re- 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  165 

publican  Albemarle  welcomed  him  with  added  rapture,  and 
Federalist  Albemarle  hurled  another  phrase  into  its  already 
comprehensive  anathema.  His  reputation  grew  amain,  both 
in  his  native  section  and  in  the  state  at  large.  Before  the 
autumn  his  election  to  the  House  of  Delegates,  which  in 
April  seemed  so  great  a  thing,  began  to  assume  the  appear 
ance  of  a  trifle  in  his  fortunes.  He  would  overtop  that, 
and  how  highly  no  man  was  prepared  to  say.  Through  all 
the  clashing  of  shields,  through  Republican  attack  and 
Federalist  resistance,  through  the  clamour  over  Hamilton's 
death,  the  denunciation  and  upholding  of  Burr,  the  impeach 
ment  of  Chase,  the  situation  in  Louisiana,  the  gravitation 
towards  France,  and  the  check  of  England,  the  conscious 
ness  of  Pitt  and  the  obsession  of  Napoleon,  —  through  all 
the  commotion  and  fanfaronade  of  that  summer  Rand  kept  a 
steady  hand  and  eye,  and  sent  his  arrows  into  the  gold.  In  the 
law,  as  in  politics,  he  was  successful.  A  comprehensive  know 
ledge  and  an  infinite  painstaking,  a  grasp  wide  and  firm,  a 
somewhat  sombre  eloquence,  a  personal  magnetism  virile  and 
compelling,  —  these  and  other  attributes  began  to  make  his 
name  resound.  He  won  his  cases,  until  presently  to  say  of 
a  man,  "  He  has  Lewis  Rand,"  was  in  effect  to  conclude  the 
matter.  He  had  no  Federalist  clients;  that  rift  widened 
and  deepened.  Federalist  Albemarle  meant  the  Churchills 
and  the  Carys,  their  kinsmen,  connections,  and  friends.  The 
gulf  seemed  fixed. 

Jacqueline,  keeping  at  home  in  the  house  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road,  saw  very  few  from  out  her  old  life.  Those 
who  had  been  her  girlhood  friends  kept  aloof.  If  their  defec 
tion  pained  her,  she  gave  no  sign  —  she  had  something  of 
her  father's  pride.  Among  the  Republican  gentry  she  was 
of  course  made  much  of,  and  she  saw  something  of  the  plainer 
sort  of  her  husband's  friends.  Tom  Mocket  came  occasionally 


166  LEWIS   RAND 

on  business  with  Rand,  and  once  he  brought  Vinie  with  him. 
Jacqueline  liked  the  sandy-haired  and  freckled  scamp,  and 
made  friends  with  Vinie.  In  the  first  July  days  Adam  Gaudy- 
lock  often  sat  upon  her  porch,  but  now  for  weeks  he  had 
been  wandering  in  the  West.  Once  or  twice  Mr.  Pincornet, 
straying  that  way,  had  delicately  looked  his  pity  for  a  lovely 
woman  in  a  desert  waste.  Cousin  Jane  Selden  remained  her 
good  neighbour  and  kind  friend,  and  once  Mr.  Ned  Hunter 
brought  a  message  from  Unity.  Her  old  minister  came  to  see 
her,  and  Dr.  Gilmer,  when  illness  called  him  in  that  direction, 
always  drew  rein  at  her  gate.  Ludwell  Gary  was  out  of  the 
county,  and  Fairfax  Gary  never  rode  that  way.  Unity  came 
whenever  it  was  possible,  and  thrice,  between  July  and  Octo 
ber,  Deb  and  Miranda  and  a  horsehair  trunk  arrived  for  a 
blissful  week.  To  Deb  they  were  unshadowed  days.  The 
log  house,  the  pine  wood  and  singing  stream,  an  owl  that 
hooted  each  night,  a  row  of  tiger  lilies  and  a  thicket  of  black 
berries,  Jacqueline  to  tell  her  stories,  Mammy  Chloe  and 
Hannah,  the  new  brother  who  came  home  every  evening  rid 
ing  a  great  bay  horse  and  kissing  Jacqueline  beneath  the 
mimosa  tree,  —  the  brother  who  showed  her  twenty  unguessed 
treasures  and  gave  her  the  Arabian  Nights,  —  Deb  thought 
the  week  on  the  Three-Notched  Road  a  piece  out  of  the  book, 
and  wept  when  she  must  go  back  to  Fontenoy. 

But  Colonel  Churchill  and  Major  Edward  never  came, 
never  wrote,  never  sent  messages  to  Jacqueline,  never,  she 
forced  Unity  to  tell  her,  mentioned  her  name  or  would  hear  it 
mentioned  at  Fontenoy.  Only  Aunt  Nancy,  lying  always  in 
the  chamber,  her  key-basket  beside  her  on  the  white  counter 
pane,  talked  of  her  when  she  chose.  "  But  she  talks  as  though 
you  were  dead,"  acknowledged  Unity;  then,  "Oh,  Jacque 
line,  it  must  all  come  right  some  day!  And  as  for  him,  he's 
talked  of  more  and  more,  —  everywhere  one  goes,  one  hears 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  167 

his  name!  He's  head  and  front  of  his  party  here.  Oh,  what 
a  party !  Mrs.  Adams  writes  that  at  Washington  they  eat 
soup  with  their  fingers  and  still  think  Ca  Ira  the  latest 
song !  Cannot  you  convert  him  ?  They  say  the  Mammoth 's 
jealous,  and  that  your  husband  and  Colonel  Burr  corre 
spond  in  cipher.  Is  that  so?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  shall  not  try  to  con 
vert  him.  I  would  have  a  man  loyal  to  his  beliefs  —  so  would 
you,  Unity !  Suppose  yourself  of  another  party  —  would  you 
change  Fairfax  Cary  ?  You  would  wish  him  to  stay  always 
the  Federalist  that  he  is !  So  with  me.  I  love  my  great  Re 
publican." 

"I  love  you,"  said  Unity.  "Kiss  me.  Now,  when  do  you 
go  to  Richmond  ?" 

"Next  month.  Oh,  Unity,  if  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle 
Edward  would  but  make  friends  before  we  go!" 

Unity,  stopping  for  an  hour  at  Cousin  Jane  Selden's,  re 
marked  to  that  lady,  "Ah,  she  is  happy !  She  does  not  know 
and  she  does  not  care  what  is  said  of  Lewis  Rand.  They  say 
dreadful  things.  The  last  Gazette  —  " 

"She  does  n't  hear  a  Federalist  upon  the  subject,"  replied 
Cousin  Jane.  "The  last  Gazette !  Pooh  !  who  believes  what 
a  Federalist  paper  says  of  a  Republican,  or  a  Republican 
paper  says  of  a  Federalist  ?  Most  men  and  all  newspapers 
are  liars." 

"It  says  that  he  is  a  Buonaparte  ready  to  break  the 
shell." 

"Buonaparte's  a  great  man,  my  dear." 

"And  that  the  Mammoth's  alarmed  —  " 

"Like  the  hen  that  hatched  the  eaglet  — " 

"And  that  Lewis  Rand's  no  more  Republican  at  heart 
than  he  is  Federalist.  He's  just  for  Lewis  Rand." 

"Hm-m-m!" 


i68  LEWIS   RAND 

"And  that  his  name's  known  as  far  west  as  the  Missis 
sippi.  " 

"There's  no  law  against  a  man's  name  spreading.  It's 
what  every  man  strives  for.  One  succeeds,  and  the  birds  that 
carried  the  news  are  indignant." 

"And  that  he's  an  Atheist." 

"Lewis  Rand's  no  saint,  child,  but  he's  no  fool  either. 
You'll  be  telling  me  next  that  he  mistreats  his  wife." 

"Ah,  he  does  not  do  that!"  exclaimed  Unity.  "She's  deep 
in  love.  He  can't  be  so  very  bad,  can  he,  Cousin  Jane?" 

"  He 's  not  a  monster,  child  :  he 's  just  a  man.  —  And  now, 
Unity,  I  am  making  damson  preserves  to-day." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Unity,  rising.  "But  they  believe  these 
things  at  Fontenoy." 

"Do  they  believe  them  at  Greenwood  ?" 

"I  don't  know.    Ludwell  Gary  is  still  away  - 

"When  are  you  going  to  marry  his  brother?" 

"Why,  I  don't  know  that  I  am  going  to  marry  his  brother 
at  all,"  answered  Unity,  her  foot  upon  the  coach  step.  "  Good 
bye,  Cousin  Jane.  I  wish  I  could  make  pot-pourri  like 
yours." 

"You  must  know  what  spices  to  use,  and  when  to  gather 
the  roses,"  said  Cousin  Jane.  "Good-bye,  child!  You  read 
too  many  romances,  but  you're  a  loyal  soul  —  and  one  of 
your  gowns  is  prettier  than  another.  Don't  you  believe  all 
the  world  says  of  Lewis  Rand.  It's  mighty  prone  to  make 
mistakes.  The  man's  just  a  sinner  like  the  rest  of  us." 

At  Fontenoy,  that  September  afternoon,  Fairfax  Cary, 
riding  over  from  Greenwood,  found  Miss  Dandridge  seated 
upon  the  steps  which  ran  down  to  the  garden  from  the  glass 
doors  of  the  library.  Her  chin  was  in  her  hands,  and  her 
black  eyes  were  suspiciously  bright.  "You  were  crying,"  ex 
claimed  the  younger  Cary.  "Why?" 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  169 

"I've  been  reading  about  the  Capulets  and  the  Mon 
tagues." 

"You  are  not  one  to  cry  for  the  dead,"  said  the  young 
man.  "Tell  me  truly." 

"No;  I'm  crying  for  the  living.  I've  been  talking  to  the 
Capulets.  I  've  been  giving  Uncle  Edward  a  piece  of  my 
mind." 

"Which  he  would  not  take?" 

"Just  so.  Oh,  it  was  a  battle  royal !  But  I  lost  —  I  always 
lose.  He  is  sitting  there  in  triumphant  misery,  reading  Swift. 
I  brought  my  defeat  out  here.  Now  and  then  I  am  glad  I 


am  a  woman." 


"I'm  glad  all  the  time,"  said  Fairfax  Cary.  "Don't  dwell 
on  lost  battles.  Unity,  when  are  you  going  to  let  me  fight 
all  your  battles  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Miss  Dandridge  promptly. 
"  I  don't  even  know  that  I  would  like  to  have  all  my  battles 
fought  for  me.  I'm  not  lazy,  and  I  believe  my  ancestors 
fought  their  own.  Besides  —  would  you  fight  this  one?" 

There  was  a  pause;  then,  "Do  you  love  your  cousin  so  ?" 
asked  the  young  man. 

"Love  Jacqueline?  Jacqueline  is  like  my  sister.  If  she 
is  not  happy,  then  neither  am  I!" 

"  But  she  is  happy.  She  loved  Lewis  Rand,  and  she  mar 
ried  him." 

"Yes,  yes.  But  a  woman  may  marry  her  lover  and  yet 
be  unhappy.  If  he  takes  her  to  a  strange  country,  she  may 
perish  of  homesickness." 

"Has  he  taken  her  to  a  strange  country?" 

"  Yes,"  cried  Unity,  with  fire.  "  How  can  it  but  be  a  strange 
country?"  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Why,  why  did  she 
not  love  your  brother!" 

"That,"  said  the  younger  Cary  grimly,  "is  what  I  do  not 


170  LEWIS   RAND 

profess  to  understand.  And  I  would  fight  for  your  cousin, 
but  I  will  not  fight  for  Lewis  Rand.  My  brother's  enemies 
are  mine." 

"You  see.    You  would  n't  fight  this  battle,  after  all." 

"Would  Miss  Dandridge  wish  me  to?" 

Unity  regarded  the  sunset  beyond  the  snowball  bushes. 
"No,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  sigh  and  a  shake  of  her  head, 
"no,  I  would  n't.  I  had  rather  a  man  behaved  like  a  man 
than  like  an  angel." 

"You  are  the  angel.  At  least  your  cousin  will  not  live 
much  longer  in  that  log  house,  with  the  pines  and  the  tobacco 
and  the  ghost  of  old  Gideon.  Lewis  Rand  has  bought  Rose- 
lands." 

"Roselands!" 

"You  knew  it  was  for  sale.  Well,  he's  bought  it.  I  had  the 
news  from  the  agent.  It's  to  be  put  in  order  this  winter,  and 
in  the  spring  Rand  will  come  back  from  Richmond  and  take 
possession.  It  is  strange  to  think  of  a  Rand  owning  Rose- 
lands!" 

"A  Churchill  will  own  it,  too!  It  will  have  been  bought 
with  Churchill  money.  I  am  so  glad !  It  can  be  made  a  lovely 
place.  Jacqueline  will  have  the  garden  and  the  old,  long  draw 
ing-room  !  Deb  and  I  can  go  there  easily.  It  is  all  more  fit 
ting  —  I  am  glad!" 

"It  is  too  near  Greenwood,"  said  the  other  gloomily.  "I 
think  that  Ludwell  will  stay  in  Richmond." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Unity  softly  and  brightly.  "I  wish,  I 
wish  —  but  what's  the  use  in  wishing  ?  There!  the  sun  has 
gone,  and  it  is  growing  cold.  I  have  sat  here  until  I  'm  no 
longer  angry  with  Uncle  Edward.  Poor  man !  to  be  read 
ing  Swift  all  this  time !  —  I  '11  walk  with  you  to  the  front 
porch." 

"I    thought,"  ventured  the  young  man,  "I  thought  that 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  171 

perhaps  you  might  ask  me  to  stay  to  supper.    It's  so  lonely 
at  Greenwood." 

**You  stayed  to  supper  last  night,"  said  Miss  Dandridge 
pensively,  "and  you  were  here  to  dinner  the  day  before, 
and  you  rode  over  the  preceding  afternoon,  and  the  morning 
before  that  you  read  me  Vathek.  —  Oh,  stay  to  supper  by 
all  means!" 

Gary  picked  up  her  scarf  and  handed  her  down  the  steps  to 
the  path  that  was  beginning  to  be  strewn  with  autumn  leaves. 
"Miss  Dandridge  —  Unity  —  it  has  been  fourteen  mortal 
days  since  I  last  asked  you  to  marry  me !  You  said  I  might 
ask  you  once  a  month  — " 

"  I  did  n't,"  said  Unity  serenely.  "  I  said  once  a  month  was 
too  often." 

"Are  n't  you  ever  going  to  love  me  ?" 
"Why,  some  day,  yes!"  replied  Miss  Dandridge.  "When 
you  've  swum  the  Hellespont  like  Leander,  or  picked  a  glove 
out  of  the  lion's  den  like  the  French  knight,  or  battered  down 
a  haunted  castle  like  Rinaldo,  or  taken  the  ring  from  a  mur 
derer's  hand  like  Onofrio,  or  set  free  the  Magician's  daughter 
like  Julio  —  perhaps  —  perhaps  — " 

"I  must  cast  about  to  win  my  spurs!"  said  the  younger 
Gary.  "  In  the  mean  time  I  '11  ask  you  again,  come  fourteen 
days." 

Late  September  passed  into  October.  The  nuts  ripened, 
the  forests  grew  yellow  and  red,  and  the  corn  was  stacked  in 
the  long,  sere  fields,  above  which,  each  morning,  lay  a  white 
mist.  Goldenrod  and  farewell-summer  faded,  but  sumach 
and  alder-berry  still  held  the  fence  corners.  The  air  was 
fragrant  with  wood  smoke;  all  sound  was  softened,  thin,  and 
far  away.  A  frost  fell  and  the  persimmons  grew  red  gold.  The 
song  birds  had  gone  south,  but  there  were  creatures  enough 
left  in  the  trees.  Sometimes,  through  the  thin  forest,  in  the 


172  LEWIS   RAND 

blue  distance,  deer  were  seen;  bears  began  to  approach  the 
corn-cribs,  and  in  the  unbroken  wilderness  wolves  were  heard 
at  night.  Early  and  late  the  air  struck  cold,  but  each  midday 
was  a  halcyon  time.  In  the  last  of  October,  on  a  still  and 
coloured  morning,  Rand  and  Jacqueline,  having  shaken  hands 
with  the  overseer  and  the  slaves  they  were  leaving,  caressed 
the  dogs,  and  said  good-bye  to  the  cat,  quitted  the  house  on 
the  Three-Notched  Road.  At  the  gate  they  turned,  and,  stand 
ing  beneath  the  mimosa,  looked  back  across  the  yard  where 
the  flowers  had  been  touched  by  the  frost,  to  the  house  and 
the  sombre  pines.  They  stood  in  silence.  Jacqueline  thought 
of  the  first  evening  beneath  the  mimosa,  of  the  July  dusk,  and 
the  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will.  Rand  thought,  suddenly  and 
inconsequently,of  his  father  and  mother,  standing  here  at  the 
gate  as  he  had  often  seen  them  stand.  There  was  no  mimosa 
then.  — Jacqueline  turned,  caught  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to 
her  lips.  He  strained  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  they 
entered  the  chaise  which  was  to  carry  them  to  Richmond. 
Before  them  lay  a  hundred  miles  of  sunny  road,  three  days' 
companionship  in  the  blue,  autumnal  weather.  A  few  mo 
ments,  and  the  house,  the  pines,  and  the  hurrying  stream 
were  lost  to  view.  "A  long  good-bye!"  said  Rand.  "In  the 
spring  we'll  enter  Roselands!" 

"You  value  it  more  than  I,"  answered  Jacqueline.  "I 
loved  the  house  behind  us.  Loved  !  I  am  speaking  as  though 
it  were  a  thing  of  the  long  past.  Farewells  are  always  sad." 

"I  value  it  for  you,"  said  Rand.  "Have  I  not  chafed,  ever 
since  July,  to  see  you  in  so  poor  a  place  ?  Roselands  is  not 
ideal,  but  it  is  a  fairer  nest  for  my  bird  than  that  we've 
left!" 

Jacqueline  laughed.  "'  Roselands  is  not  ideal!'  /  think 
Roselands  quite  grand  enough !  Oh,  Lewis,  Lewis,  how  high 
you  build!  Take  care  of  the  upper  winds!" 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  173 

"I'll  build  firmly,"  he  answered.  "The  winds  may  do 
their  worst.  Here  is  the  old  road  to  Greenwood.  Now  that 
the  trees  are  bare,  you  can  see  the  house." 

They  drove  all  day  by  field  and  woodland.  At  noon  they 
paused  for  luncheon  beside  a  bubbling  spring  in  a  dell  strewn 
with  red  leaves,  then  drove  on  through  the  haze  of  afternoon. 
There  were  few  leaves  left  upon  the  boughs.  In  the  fields  that 
they  passed  the  stacked  corn  had  the  seeming  of  silent  en 
campments,  deserted  tents  of  a  vanished  army,  russet  and 
empty  wigwams  drawn  against  a  deep  blue  sky.  Now  and 
then,  in  the  darker  woods,  there  was  a  scurry  of  partridges, 
the  red  gleam  of  a  fox,  or  a  vision  of  antlers,  and  once  a  wild 
turkey,  bronze  and  stately,  crossed  the  road  before  the 
chaise.  When  they  passed  a  smithy  or  a  mill,  the  clink  of  iron, 
the  rush  of  water,  came  to  them  faintly  in  the  smoky  air. 
That  night  they  slept  at  the  house  of  a  wealthy  planter  and 
good  Republican,  where,  after  supper,  all  sat  around  a  great 
fire,  the  children  on  footstools  between  the  elders,  and  stories 
were  told  of  hunting,  of  Indian  warfare,  and  of  Tarleton's 
raid.  At  ten  they  made  a  hall  and  danced  for  an  hour  to  a 
negro's  fiddling,  then  a  bowl  of  punch  was  brought  and  the 
bedroom  candles  lighted. 

In  the  morning  Rand  and  Jacqueline  went  on  towards 
Richmond,  and  at  sunset  they  found  themselves  before  a 
country  tavern,  not  over  clean  or  comfortable,  but  famous  for 
good  company.  The  centre  of  a  large  neighbourhood,  it  had 
been  that  day  the  scene  of  some  Republican  anniversary,  and 
a  number  of  gentlemen,  sober  and  otherwise,  had  remained 
for  supper  and  a  ride  home  through  the  frosty  moonlight. 
Among  them  were  several  lawyers  of  note,  and  a  writer  and 
thinker  whose  opinion  Rand  valued.  Besides  all  these  there 
were  at  the  inn  a  group  of  small  farmers,  a  party  of  boatmen 
from  the  James,  the  local  schoolmaster  and  the  parson,  a 


174  LEWIS   RAND 

Scotch  merchant  or  two,  and  the  usual  idle  that  a  tavern 
draws.  All  were  Republicans,  and  all  knew  their  party's  men. 
Rand  descended  from  the  chaise  amidst  a  buzz  of  recognition, 
and  after  supper  came  a  demand  that  he  should  speak  from 
the  tavern  porch  to  an  increasing  crowd.-  He  did  not  re 
fuse.  To  his  iron  frame  the  fatigue  of  the  day  was  as  naught, 
and  there  were  men  in  the  throng  whom  he  was  willing 
to  move.  It  came  to  him  suddenly,  also,  that  Jacqueline 
had  never  heard  him  speak.  Well,  he  would  speak  to  her 
to-night. 

His  was  an  universal  mind.  On  occasion  he  could  stoop 
to  praise  one  party  and  vituperate  another,  but  that  was  his 
tongue  serving  his  worldly  interest.  The  man  himself  dealt 
with  humanity,  wherever  found  and  in  whatever  time,  how 
ever  differentiated,  however  allied,  with  its  ancestry  of  the 
brute  and  its  destiny  of  the  spirit;  with  the  root  of  the  tree 
and  the  far-off  flower  and  every  intermediate  development 
of  stem  and  leaf;  with  the  soil  that  sustained  the  marvellous 
growth,  and  with  the  unknown  Gardener  who  for  an  unfath 
omable  purpose  had  set  the  inexplicable  seed  in  an  unthink 
able  universe.  From  the  ephemera  to  the  star  he  accepted 
and  conjectured,  and  while  he  often  thought  ill  of  the  living, 
he  had  never  yet  thought  ill  of  life.  He  had  long  been  allied 
with  a  thinker  who,  with  a  low  estimate  of  at  least  so  much 
of  human  nature  as  ran  counter  to  his  purposes,  yet  be 
lieved  with  devoutness  in  the  perfectibility  of  his  species, 
and  had  of  the  future  a  large,  calm,  and  noble  vision.  If 
Lewis  Rand  had  not  Jefferson's  equanimity,  his  sane  and 
wise  belief  in  the  satisfying  power  of  common  daylight,  com 
mon  pleasures,  all  the  common  relations  of  daily  life;  if  some 
strangeness  in  his  nature  thrilled  to  the  meteor's  flight,  craved 
the  exotic,  responded  to  clashing  and  barbaric  music,  yet  the 
two  preached  the  same  doctrine.  He  believed  in  the  doc- 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  175 

trine,  though  he  also  believed  that  great  men  are  not  mas 
tered  by  doctrine.  They  made  doctrine  their  servant,  their 
useful  slave  of  the  lamp.  He  knew  —  none  better  —  that  the 
genie  might  turn  and  rend ;  that  there  was  always  one  last, 
one  fatal  thing  that  must  not  be  asked.  But  his  mind  was 
supple,  and  he  thought  that  he  could  fence  with  the  genie. 
Usually,  when  he  spoke,  he  believed  all  that  he  said,  be 
lieved  it  with  all  the  strength  of  his  reason,  and  yet  —  he 
saw  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.  To-night,  in  the  autumn 
air,  pure  arid  cold  beneath  the  autumn  stars,  with  the  feel 
ing  and  the  fragrance  of  the  forest  day  about  him,  in  sym 
pathy  with  his  audience,  and  conscious  in  every  fibre  of  the 
presence  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  he  saw  no  other 
kingdom  than  that  of  high  and  tranquil  thought. 

Jacqueline,  seated  at  her  open  window,  listened  for  the 
first  time  to  any  public  utterance  of  her  husband's.  He  was 
not  a  man  who  often  spoke  of  the  processes  of  his  thought. 
Sometimes,  in  the  house  on  the  Three-Notched  Road,  he  told 
her,  briefly,  his  conclusions  on  such  and  such  a  matter,  but 
he  rarely  described  the  road  by  which  he  travelled.  She  knew 
the  conservative,  the  British,  the  Federal  side  of  most  ques 
tions.  That  was  the  cleared  country,  familiar,  safe,  and  smil 
ing;  her  husband's  side  was  the  strange  forest  which  she  had 
entered  and  must  travel  through.  She  was  yet  afraid  of  the 
forest,  of  its  lights  and  its  shadows,  the  rough  places  and  the 
smooth,  the  stir  of  its  air  and  the  possibility  of  wild  beasts. 
To  her  it  was  night-time  there,  and  where  the  ground  seemed 
fair  and  the  light  to  play,  she  thought  of  the  marsh  and 
the  will-o'-the-wisp.  She  could  not  but  be  loyal  to  the  old, 
trodden  ways.  She  had  married  Lewis  Rand,  not  his  party  or 
its  principles.  But  to-night,  as  she  listened,  the  light  seemed 
to  grow  until  it  was  dawn  in  the  forest,  and  the  air  to  blow  so 
cold,  strong,  and  pure  that  she  thought  of  mountain  peaks  and 


176  LEWIS   RAND 

of  the  ocean  which  she  had  never  seen.  She  was  no  longer 
afraid  of  the  country  in  which  she  found  herself. 

Rand,  standing  in  the  red  torchlight  above  the  attentive 
crowd,  preached  a  high  doctrine,  preached  it  austerely, 
boldly,  and  well.  He  did  not  speak  to-night  of  the  hundred 
party  words,  the  flaunting  banners,  systems,  expedients,  and 
policies  fit  for  this  turn  of  the  spiral,  born  to  be  disavowed, 
discarded,  and  thrown  down  by  a  higher,  freer  whorl ;  but  he 
gave  his  voice  for  the  larger  Republicanism,  for  the  undying 
battle-cry,  and  the  ever-streaming  battle-flag.  He  had  no  less 
a  text  than  the  Liberty  and  Happiness  of  the  human  race,  and 
he  made  no  straying  from  the  subject. 

Freedom  !  Happiness !  What  is  freedom  ?  What  is  happi 
ness  ?  Freedom  is  the  maximum  of  self-government  finally 
becoming  automatic,  and  the  minimum  of  government  from 
without  finally  reduced  to  the  vanishing-point.  Happiness 
is  the  ultimate  bourne,  the  Olympian  goal,  the  intense  and 
burning  star  towards  which  we  travel.  Does  not  its  light  even 
now  fall  upon  us  ?  even  now  we  are  palely  happy.  And  how 
shall  we  know  the  road  ?  and  what  if,  in  the  night-time,  we 
turn  irremediably  aside  ?  How  are  they  to  be  attained,  true 
Liberty  and  true  Happiness?  Learn!  Light  the  lamp,  and 
the  shadows  will  flee. —  Self-government.  Teach  thyself 
temperance,  foresight,  and  wise  memory  of  the  past.  Thou 
thyself,  in  thine  own  body,  art  a  community.  See,  then,  that 
thy  communal  life  is  clean,  that  thy  will  is  in  right  operation, 
and  thy  minds  divide  thee  not  to  disaster.  Thy  very  ego,  is 
it  not  but  thy  president,  the  voice  of  all  thy  members,  repre 
sentative  of  all  that  thy  race  has  made  thee  to  be,  effect  of 
ten  million  causes,  and  cause  of  effects  thou  canst  not  see  ? 
Let  thy  ego  strengthen  itself,  deal  justly,  rule  wisely,  that  thy 
state  fall  not  behind  in  this  world-progress  and  be  lost  out 
of  time  and  out  of  mind,  in  a  nisht  without  a  dawn.  There 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  177 

have  been  such  things:  over  against  immortal  gain  there 
lies  immortal  loss.  Work,  then,  while  it  is  day,  for  if  thou 
work  not,  the  night  will  make  no  tarrying.  Know  thyself,  and, 
knowing,  rule  that  strange  world  of  thine.  Were  it  not  a 
doom,  were  it  not  a  frightful  doom,  that  it  should  come  to 
rule  thee  ?  .  .  .  Government  from  without !  Government  of 
to-day,  Government  abroad  as  we  see  it  in  every  journal, 
in  every  letter  that  we  open  —  how  heavy,  how  heavy  is  the 
ball  and  chain  the  nations  wear !  If  we  alone  in  this  land  go 
free,  if  for  four  golden  years  we  have  moved  with  lightness, 
look  to  it  lest  a  gaoler  come !  Government !  What  is  the  ideal 
government  ?  It  is  a  man  of  business,  worthy  and  esteemed, 
administering  his  client's  affairs  with  thoroughness,  economy, 
and  honour.  It  is  a  wise  judge,  holding  the  balances  with  a 
steadfast  hand,  sitting  there  clothed  reverently,  to  judge 
uprightly  and  to  do  no  more.  It  is  a  skilled  council,  a 
picked  band,  an  honourable  Legion,  chosen  of  the  multitude, 
to  determine  the  line  of  march  for  an  advancing  civilization; 
to  make  such  laws  as  are  according  to  reason  and  necessity 
and  to  make  none  that  are  not,  and  to  provide  for  the  keep 
ing  of  the  law  that  is  made.  The  careful  man  of  affairs,  the 
upright  judge,  the  honest  maker  of  honest  laws  must  needs 
present  an  account  for  maintenance  and  for  that  expenditure 
which  shall  give  offence  neither  to  generosity  nor  to  justice; 
and  the  account  must  be  paid,  yea,  and  ungrudgingly!  Let 
us  pay,  then,  each  man  according  to  his  ability,  the  tax  that 
is  right  and  fitting;  and  let  us,  moreover,  give  due  honour 
to  the  vanguard  of  the  people.  It  is  there  that  the  great 
flag  waves  with  all  the  blazonry  of  the  race.  But  we  want 
no  substituted  banner,  no  private  ensign,  no  conqueror's 
flapping  eagles!  Government!  Honour  the  instrument  by 
which  we  rule  ourselves;  but  worship  not  a  mechanical 
device,  and  call  not  a  means  an  end!  Admirable  means, 


178  LEWIS   RAND 

but  oh,  the  sorry  end!  Therefore  we'll  have  no  usurping 
Praetorian,  no  juggling  sophist,  no  bailiff  extravagant  and 
unjust,  no  spendthrift  squandering  on  idleness  that  which 
would  pay  just  debts!  A  ruler!  There's  no  halo  about  a 
ruler's  head.  The  people  —  the  people  are  the  sacred  thing, 
for  they  are  the  seed  whence  the  future  is  to  spring.  He  who 
betrays  his  trust,  which  is  to  guard  the  seed,  —  what  is  that 
man  —  Emperor  or  President,  Louis  or  George,  Pharaoh  or 
Caesar  —  but  a  traitor  and  a  breaker  of  the  Law  ?  He  may 
die  by  the  axe,  or  he  may  die  in  a  purple  robe  of  a  surfeit,  but 
he  dies !  The  people  live  on,  and  his  memory  pays.  He  has 
been  a  tyrant  and  a  pygmy,  and  the  ages  hold  him  in  con 
tempt.  .  .  .  War!  There  are  righteous  wars,  and  righteous 
men  die  in  them,  but  the  righteous  man  does  not  love  war. 
Conquest!  Conquest  of  ignorance,  superstition,  and  indolence, 
conquest  of  the  waste  and  void,  of  the  forces  of  earth,  air,  and 
water,  and  of  the  dying  beast  within  us,  but  no  other  con 
quest  !  We  attained  Louisiana  by  fair  trade,  for  the  benefit  of 
unborn  generations.  Standing  armies!  We  want  them  not. 
Navies!  The  sea  is  the  mother  of  life;  why  call  her  that  of 
death  ?  Her  highways  are  for  merchant  ships,  for  argosies 
carrying  corn  and  oil,  bearing  travellers  and  the  written 
thought  of  man ;  for  voyages  of  discovery  and  happy  inter 
course,  and  all  rich  exchange  from  strand  to  strand.  Why 
stain  the  ocean  red  ?  Is  it  not  fairer  when  't  is  blue  ?  Guard 
coast-line  and  commerce,  but  we  need  no  Armada  for 
that.  Make  no  quarrels  and  enter  none;  so  we  shall  be  th? 
exemplar  of  the  nations.  .  .  .  Free  Trade.  We  are  citizens 
and  merchants  of  the  world.  No  man  or  woman  but  lives  by 
trade  and  barter.  Long  ago  there  was  a  marriage  between  the 
house  of  Give  and  the  house  of  Take,  and  their  child  is  Civil 
ization.  Sultan  or  Czar  may  say,  "  Buy  here,  sell  there,  and  at 
this  price.  You  are  my  slave.  Obey!"  But  who,  in  this  cen- 


THE  THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD          179 

tury  and  this  land,  shall  say  that  to  me — or  to  you  ?  Are  we 
free  men  ?  Then  let  us  walk  as  such  through  the  marts  of  the 
earth.  "Trade  where  you  will,"  saith  Nature.  "It  was  so  I 
brought  the  tree  to  the  barren  isle,  and  scattered  the  life  of 
the  seas."  Authority  of  law!  Respect  the  law,  and  to  that 
end  let  us  have  laws  that  are  respectable.  Laws  are  made 
to  be  kept,  else  we  live  in  a  house  of  chicane.  But  there  is 
a  danger  that  decrees  may  thicken  until  they  form  a  dungeon 
grate  for  Freedom,  until,  like  Gulliver,  she  is  held  down  to 
earth  by  every  several  hair.  Few  laws  and  just,  and  those  not 
lightly  broken.  The  Contract  between  the  States  —  let  it  be 
kept.  It  was  pledged  in  good  faith  —  the  cup  went  around 
among  equals.  There  is  no  more  solemn  covenant;  we  shall 
prosper  but  as  we  maintain  it.  Is  it  not  for  the  welfare  and 
the  grandeur  of  the  whole  that  each  part  should  have  its 
healthful  life  ?  The  whole  exists  but  by  the  glow  within  its 
parts.  Shall  we  become  dead  members  of  a  sickly  soul  ?  God 
forbid !  but  sister  planets  revolving  in  their  orbits  about  one 
central  Idea,  which  is  Freedom  by  Cooperation.  To  each  her 
own  life,  varied,  rich,  complete,  and  her  communal  life,  large 
with  service  rendered  and  received !  Each  bound  to  other 
and  to  that  central  Thought  by  primal  law,  but  each  a  sover 
eign  orb,  grave  mistress  of  her  own  affairs !  Slavery !  Ay,  I 
will  give  you  that  though  you  want  it  not !  Slavery  is  abomi 
nable.  There  is  a  tree  that  grows  in  the  tropics  which  they 
call  the  upas  tree.  All  who  lie  in  the  shadow  of  its  branches 
-fall  asleep,  and  die  sleeping.  To-day  we  lie  under  the  upas 
tree  —  would  that  we  were  awake !  I  have  heard  that  —  in 
the  tropics  —  the  sons  sometimes  hew  down  that  which  the 
fathers  have  planted.  I  would  that  it  were  so  in  Virginia! 
Freedom  of  thought,  of  speech,  and  of  pen.  I  will  away  with 
this  cope  of  lead,  this  Ancient  Authority,  which  is  too  often 
an  Ancient  Iniquity.  Did  it  not  have  once  a  minority  ?  was 


i8o  LEWIS   RAND 

it  not  once  a  New  Thought  ?  Is  not  a  man's  thought  to-day 
as  potent,  holy,  and  near  the  right  as  was  his  great-grand 
father's  thought  which  was  born  in  a  like  manner,  of  the  brain 
of  a  man,  in  a  modern  time  ?  I  will  think  freely  and  accord 
ing  to  reason.  When  it  seems  wise  to  tell  my  mind  I  will 
speak;  and  with  judgment  I  will  write  down  my  thought, 
and  fear  no  man's  censure.  Knowledge !  I  was  a  poor  boy, 
and  I  strove  for  learning,  strove  hard,  and  found  it  worth  the 
striving.  I  know  the  hunger,  and  I  know  the  rage  when  one 
asks  for  knowledge  and  asks  in  vain.  Is  it  not  a  shameful 
thing  that  happy  men,  lodged  warm  and  clear  in  the  Inter 
preter's  house,  should  hear  the  groping  in  the  dark  with 
out,  know  that  their  fellows  are  searching,  in  pain  and  with 
shortness  of  breath,  for  the  key  which  let  the  fortunate  in, 
and  make  no  stir  to  aid  those  luckless  ones  ?  Give  of  your 
abundance,  or  your  abundance  will  decay  in  your  hands  and 
turn  to  that  which  shall  cause  you  shuddering! 

His  words  went  on,  magnetic  as  the  man.  He  spoke  for  an 
hour,  coming  at  the  last  to  a  consideration  of  those  particular 
questions  which  hung  in  Virginian  air.  He  dealt  with  these 
ably,  and  he  subtly  conciliated  those  of  his  audience  who 
might  differ  with  him.  None  could  have  called  him  flatterer, 
but  when  he  ceased  to  speak  his  hearers,  feeling  for  them 
selves  a  higher  esteem,  had  for  him  a  reflex  glow.  It  was  what 
he  could  always  count  upon,  and  it  furthered  his  fortunes. 
Now  they  crowded  about  him,  and  it  was  late  before,  pleading 
the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  he  could  escape  from  their  friendly 
importunity.  At  last,  it  being  towards  midnight  and  the 
moon  riding  high,  the  neighbouring  planters  and  their  guests 
got  to  saddle  and,  after  many  and  pressing  offers  of  hospitality 
to  Rand  and  his  wife,  galloped  off  to  home  and  bed.  The 
commonalty  and  the  hangers-on  faded  too  into  the  darkness, 
and  the  folk  who  were  sleeping  at  the  inn  took  their  candles 


THE   THREE-NOTCHED   ROAD  181 

and  said  good-night.  All  was  suddenly  quiet,  —  a  moonlit 
crossroads  in  Virginia,  tranquil  as  the  shaven  fields  and  the 
endless  columns  of  the  pine. 

Upstairs,  in  the  low  "  best  room,"  Rand  found  his  wife  still 
seated  by  the  open  window,  her  folded  arms  upon  the  sill,  her 
eyes  raised  to  the  stars  that  shone  despite  the  moon.  He 
crossed  to  her  and  closed  the  window.  "The  night  is  cold. 
Dearest,  have  you  been  sitting  here  all  this  time  ?" 

She  rose,  turning  upon  him  a  radiant  face.  "All  this  time. 
I  was  not  cold.  I  was  warm.  I  am  so  happy  that  I'm  fright 
ened." 

"Did  you  like  it?"  he  asked.  "I  hoped  that  you  would. 
I  thought  of  you  —  my  star,  my  happiness!" 

"  I  used  to  wonder,"  she  said ;  "when  they  would  come  home 
to  Fontenoy  and  say,  '  Lewis  Rand  spoke  to-day,'  I  used  to 
wonder  if  I  should  ever  hear  you  speak!  And  when  they 
blamed  you  I  said  to  my  aching  heart,  <  They  need  not  tell 
me !  He's  not  ambitious,  self-seeking,  a  leveller,  a  demagogue 
and  Jacobin!  —  he  is  the  man  I  met  beneath  the  apple  tree!' 
And  I  was  right  —  I  was  right!  " 

"Am  I  that  man  ? "  he  asked.  "  I  will  try  to  be,  Jacqueline. 
Leveller,  demagogue,  and  Jacobin  I  am  not;  but  for  the 
rest,  who  knows  —  who  knows  ?  Men  are  cloudy  worlds  — 
and  I  dream  sometimes  of  a  Pursuer." 

The  next  morning  the  skies  had  changed,  and  Rand  and 
Jacqueline  fared  forward  through  a  sodden,  grey,  and  windy 
day.  The  rain  had  ceased  to  fall  when  at  twilight  they  came 
into  Richmond  by  the  Broad  Street  Road.  Lights  gleamed 
from  the  wet  houses;  high  overhead  grey  clouds  were  part 
ing,  and  in  the  west  was  a  line  of  red.  The  wind  was  high,  and 
the  sycamores  with  which  the  town  abounded  rocked  their 
speckled  arms.  The  river  was  swollen  and  rolled  hoarsely 
over  the  rocks  beneath  the  red  west.  Rand  had  taken  a  house 


182  LEWIS   RAND 

on  Shockoe  Hill,  not  far  from  the  Chief  Justice's,  and  to  this 
he  and  Jacqueline  came  through  the  wet  and  windy  freshness 
of  the  night.  Smiling  in  the  doorway  were  the  servants  — 
Joab  and  Mammy  Chloe  and  Hannah  —  who  had  set  out 
from  Albemarle  the  day  before  their  master  and  mistress. 
Rand  and  Jacqueline,  leaving  the  mud-splashed  chaise,  were 
welcomed  with  loquacity  and  ushered  into  a  cheerful  room 
where  there  was  a  crackling  fire  and  a  loaded  table. 

"Mrs.  Leigh's  compliments,  Miss  Jacqueline,  an'  she  done 
sont  de  rolls.  Mrs.  Fisher's  best  wishes,  an'  she  moughty  glad 
to  hab  a  neighbour,  an'  she  done  sont  de  broiled  chicken. 
An'  Mr.  Hay,  he  done  sont  de  oysters  wid  he  compliments  — 
an'  de  two  bottles  Madeira  Mr.  Ritchie  sont  —  an'  Mr.  Ran 
dolph  leP  de  birds,  an'  he  gwine  come  roun'  fust  thing  in  de 


mawnin'  — " 


"We  shall  have  friends,"  said  Rand.  "I  am  glad  for  you, 
sweetheart.  But  I  wish  that  one  Federalist  had  had  the  grace 
to  remember  that  Jacqueline  Churchill  came  to  town  to-day." 

"Ah,  once  I  would  have  cared,"  answered  Jacqueline.  "  It 
does  not  matter  now." 

"There's  a  tear  on  your  hand — " 

Jacqueline  laughed.  "At  least,  it  does  n't  matter  much. 
-Is  that  all,  Joab?" 

"An'  Marse  Ludwell  Cary,  he  ride  erroun  in  de  rain  an' 
leave  he  compliments  for  Marse  Lewis,  an'  he  say  will  Miss 
Jacqueline  'cept  dese  yer  flowers — " 

"One  remembered,"  said  Rand,  and  watched  his  wife  put 
the  flowers  in  water. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    LAW    OFFICE 

IF  you  were  not  so  damned  particular  —  "  said  the  weasel 
disconsolately. 
"I'm  not  damned  particular,"  answered  Rand.   "I've 
wanted  wealth  and  I  've  wanted  power  ever  since  I  went  bare 
foot  and  suckered  tobacco  —  as  you  know  who  know  me 
better  than  almost  any  one  else!   But  this"  —  he  tapped  the 
papers  on  the  table  before  him  —  "this  is  cheating." 

"Oh,  you !"  complained  the  scamp.  "You  are  of  the  elect. 
What  you  want  you'll  take  by  main  force.  You  are  a  strong 
man!  You've  taken  a  deal  since  that  day  we  went  into  the 
bookshop  by  the  bridge.  But  I'm  no  Samson  or  David  — 
I'm  just  Tom  Mocket  —  and  still,  why  should  n't  I  have  my 
pennyworth  ?" 

Rand  paused  in  his  walking  up  and  down  the  office  in 
Main  Street.  It  was  the  late  winter,  a  year  and  more  from 
that  evening  when  he  and  Jacqueline  had  first  come  to  the 
house  on  Shockoe  Hill.  Standing  by  the  rough  deal  table, 
he  laid  an  authoritative  hand  upon  the  documents  with  which 
it  was  strewn.  "  You  '11  never  get  your  pennyworth  here.  The 
scheme  these  gentry  have  afoot  is  just  a  Yazoo  business.  If 
these  lands  exist,  they're  only  a  hunting-ground  of  swamp, 
Indians,  and  buffalo.  The  survey  is  paper,  the  cleared  fields 
a  fable,  the  town  Manoa,  the  scheme  a  bubble,  the  purchasers 
fools,  and  the  sellers  knaves,  —  and  there's  your  legal  opinion 
in  a  nutshell!" 

"I  did  n't  ask  for  a  legal  opinion,"  said  Mocket.  "I'm  a 
lawyer  myself.  There's  land  there,  you'll  not  deny,  and  a 


184  LEWIS   RAND 

river,  and  plenty  of  game.  If  a  Yankee  does  n't  find  it  Para 
dise,  he  had  no  chance  anyhow,  and  a  Kentuck  can  care  for 
himself!  There's  no  sense  in  calling  it  a  bubble,  or  being  so 
damned  scrupulous!" 

Rand  made  a  gesture  of  contempt.  "You  let  Yazoo  com 
panies  and  the  Promised  Land  alone !  People  are  ceasing  to 
be  fools.  To-day  they  demand  a  hair  of  the  mammoth  or  a 
sample  of  the  salt  mountain." 

Mocket  ceased  rustling  the  papers  on  the  table,  and  turned 
to  regard  his  chief  more  closely.  "Lewis,  I've  heard  you 
say  things  like  that  more  than  once  lately.  A  year  ago  you 
were  mighty  respectful  to  Mr.  Jefferson's  salt  mountain  and 
strange  bones  and  great  elk  and  silk  grass  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  That  was  a  curious  letter  of  yours  in  the  Examiner.  If 't 
was  meant  to  defend  his  neutrality  doings,  't  was  a  damned 
lukewarm  defence !  If  I  had  n't  known  't  was  yours,  sink  me 
if  I  would  n't  have  thought  it  a  damned  piece  of  Federal 
sarcasm!  —  Did  you  send  that  paper  to  the  President?" 

"No,  I  did  not  send  it." 

"Lewis,"  said  the  scamp  slowly,  "are  you  breaking  with 
Mr.  Jefferson?" 

Rand  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out  upon 
the  winter  afternoon.  It  was  snowing  hard,  and  through  the 
drifting  veil  the  trees  across  the  way  could  hardly  be  dis 
cerned.  "Yes,"  he  said  deliberately.  "Yes,  —  if  you  call  it 
breaking  with  a  man  to  have  grown  away  from  him.  If  he 
served  me  once  —  yes,  and  greatly !  —  have  I  not  worked  for 
him  since,  hand  and  foot  ?  We  are  quits,  I  think.  I  shall 
not  cease  to  esteem  him." 

Mocket  breathed  hard  with  excitement.  uYou  haven't 
been  natural  for  a  long  time  —  but  I  did  n't  know  't  was 
this—" 

"I  am  being  natural  now,"  said  Rand  somewhat  sternly. 


THE   LAW    OFFICE  185 

"I've  told  you,  Tom,  and  now  let  it  alone.  Least  said  is 
soonest  mended." 

"But  —  but — "  stammered  the  scamp,  "are  you  going 
over  to  the  other  camp  ?" 

Rand  did  not  at  once  answer.  From  a  plate  on  the  window- 
sill  he  took  a  crust  of  bread,  and,  raising  the  sash,  crumbled  it 
upon  the  snow  without.  The  sparrows  came  at  once,  alighting 
near  his  hand  with  a  tameness  that  spoke  of  pleasing  associa 
tion  with  the  providence  above  them.  "No,"  said  Rand  at 
last,  "  I  am  not  going  over  to  the  other  camp  —  if  by  that  you 
mean  the  Federalist  camp.  Must  one  forever  sign  under  a 
captain  ?  It  is  not  my  instinct  to  serve.  —  Now  let  it  alone." 

He  closed  the  window  and,  turning  again  to  the  table,  bent 
over  an  unrolled  map  which  covered  half  its  surface.  The 
chart  was  a  large  one,  showing  the  vast  territory  drained  by 
the  Ohio,  the  Missouri,  and  the  Mississippi,  and  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  cartographer  had  made  good  his  lack  of  informa 
tion.  Rivers  and  mountains  appeared  where  nature  had  made 
no  such  provision,  while  the  names,  quaint  and  uncouth,  with 
which  Jefferson  proposed  to  burden  states  yet  in  embryo 
sprawled  in  large  letters  across  the  yellow  plain.  "Assenispia 
—  Polypotamia  —  Chersonesus  —  Michigania, "  read  Rand. 
"Barbarous!  I  could  name  them  better  out  of  Ossian!" 
He  traced  with  his  finger  the  lower  Ohio.  "This  is  where 
Blennerhasset's  island  should  be."  The  finger  went  on  down 
the  Mississippi.  "What  a  river!  When  it  is  in  flood,  it  is  a 
sea.  And  the  rich  black  fields  on  either  side !  Cotton !  Our 
Fortunatus  purse  shall  be  spun  of  that.  They  call  the  creeks 
bayous.  All  these  little  towns  —  French  and  Spanish.  To 
speak  to  them  of  Washington  is  to  speak  of  the  moon  —  so 
distant  and  so  cold.  Here  are  Indians.  Here  are  settlers 
from  the  East,  and  the  burden  of  their  song  is,  *  We  are  so  far 
from  the  Old  Thirteen  that  we  care  not  if  we  are  farther  yet!" 


i86  LEWIS   RAND 

"Hey!"  exclaimed  Mocket.    "That's  treason!" 

"Here  Adam  Gaudylock  met  Wilkinson.  The  river  nar 
rows  here,  and  runs  deep  and  strong."  Rand's  hand  rested 
on  the  coast-line.  "New  Orleans,"  he  said,  "but  capable  of 
becoming  a  new  Rome.  Here  to  the  westward  is  the  Perdido 
that  they  call  the  boundary,  —  then  Mexico  and  the  City  of 
Mexico.  If  not  New  Orleans,  then  Mexico !"  He  straightened 
himself  with  a  laugh.  "I  am  dreaming,  Tom  — just  as  I  used 
to  dream  in  the  fields !  Ugh  !  I  feel  the  hot  sun,  and  the  thick 
leaves  draw  through  my  hands!  Let's  get  back  to  every 
day.  To-morrow  in  the  House  I  am  going  to  carry  the  Albe- 
marle  Resolutions.  The  last  debate  is  on.  Wirt  speaks  first, 
and  then  I  speak." 

"Ludwell  Gary  is  fighting  you,"  said  Mocket.  "Fighting 
hard." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'll  be  there  to  hear  you  speak.  Lord!  if  I  could 
speak  like  you,  Lewis,  and  plan  like  you,  and  if  whiskey 
would  let  me  alone,  and  if  I  was  n't  afraid  of  the  dark,  I'd 
make  a  stir  in  the  country —  I'd  go  higher  than  a  Franklin 
kite!" 

"You  might  manage  the  rest,"  said  Rand,  with  good-na 
tured  scorn;  "but  it  does  n't  do  to  be  afraid  of  the  dark." 

From  the  pegs  behind  the  door  he  took  his  greatcoat  and 
beaver.  "I  am  going  home  now,"  he  said.  "I  have  company 
to  supper." 

"Who,  then  ?"  asked  Mocket.    "Adam  Gaudylock  ?  He's 


in  town." 


Rand  laughed.  "Who,  then?'  Tom,  Tom,  you've  the 
manners  of  the  West  Indian  skippers  you  consort  with !  No, 
it's  not  Adam  Gaudylock.  It  is  -  '  He  hesitated,  then  took 
up  a  pen  and  wrote  two  words.  "That's  his  name  —  but  you 
are  to  keep  it  dark." 


THE   LAW   OFFICE  187 

Mocket's  tilted  chair  came  noisily  to  the  floor.  "V^hat! 
in  Richmond !  —  he  in  Richmond !  When  did  he  come  ? 
Where's  he  staying?" 

"He  came  last  night,  and  he's  staying  quietly  at  Bowler's 
Tavern.  It  is  n't  known  that  he's  here,  and  he  is  not  anxious 
that  it  should  be  known.  He's  here  on  business,  and  he  goes 
to-morrow.  That  is  all  —  and  you  're  to  say  no  word  of  what 
I  tell  you." 

"All  right,"  quoth  Tom.  "I  won't  blab.  But  I'd  mightily 
like  to  see  the  man  who  shot  Alexander  Hamilton." 

"I've  told  you  he's  not  anxious  for  company." 

"Oh,  I  know!"  said  Tom,  not  without  humility.  "I'm 
small  fry.  Well,  there  are  curious  things  said  about  him,  and 
you  and  he  are  strange  bedfellows !  How  did  it  happen  ?" 

"Tom,  Tom,"  answered  Rand,  "you  ask  too  many  ques 
tions  !  It  was  an  accident,  or  it  was  predestined  and  fore 
ordained  when  I  was  dust  blown  about  by  the  wind.  You 
may  take  your  choice  according  to  your  theology !  I'm  going 
now.  Be  at  the  House  early  to-morrow." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  that  Mathews  case?  Young 
Mathews  was  here  yesterday,  swearing  that  if  he  could  n't 
get  you,  he  would  hang  himself." 

"I've  said  that  I  would  take  it." 

"Ludwell  Gary's  for  the  other  side." 

"Yes,  I  know.    I'll  win." 

"Well,  you're  fairly  pitted.  Half  the  town  backs  one  and 
half  the  other.  That  letter  signed  'Aurelius'  in  the  Ga 
zette —  did  you  know  't  was  his  ?" 

Rand  dropped  his  hand  from  the  latch.  The  colour  rushed 
to  his  face,  then  ebbed  as  quickly.  "No,  I  did  not  know,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  that  was  not  quite  steady.  "  I  thought  of  quite 
another  man." 

"  It  is  Ludwell  Gary's,  and  every  Black  Cockade  in  Rich- 


i88  LEWIS   RAND 

mor%«,  and  not  a  few  Republicans,  are  quoting  it.  My  certie ! 
it  was  a  commentary  in  caustic  —  and  so  damned  courteous 
all  the  time!" 

"I  don't  care  for  such  courtesy,"  answered  Rand.  "Lud- 
well  Gary  had  best  look  where  he  treads." 

"Well,  I  thought  I'd  tell  you,"  said  his  colleague.  "I 
don't  like  the  Carys,  either! — And  so  I'm  not  to  go  into 
that  land  scheme?" 

"No.  It's  a  small  thing,  and  not  honest.  Some  day,  Tom, 
I'll  help  you  to  a  larger  thing  than  that." 

"And  honest?"  said  Mocket  shrewdly. 

The  other  turned  upon  him  with  anger,  black  as  it  was 
sudden.  "Honest!  Yes,  honest  as  this  storm,  honest  as  any 
struggle  for  any  piece  of  earth  wider  than  a  coffin  space! 
Who  are  you  to  question  me  ?  I  give  you  warning  — " 

"Gently,  gently!"  exclaimed  the  scamp,  and  started  back. 
"Lord,  how  Gideon  peeps  out  of  you  now  and  then!  " 

"  You  need  not  say  that,  either,"  retorted  Rand  grimly.  He 
stood  for  a  moment,  a  cloudy  presence  in  the  darkening 
room,  then  with  a  short  laugh  recovered  himself.  "I  thought 
the  black  dog  was  dead,"  he  said.  "It's  this  gloomy  day  — 
and  I  did  not  sleep  last  night.  Honest!  We're  all  indifferent 
honest!" 

"Well,  well,"  answered  the  pacific  Tom,  "  I  '11  sink  or  swim 
with  you.  I  've  followed  where  you  have  led  this  many  a  day." 

Outside  the  red  brick  office  the  snow  lay  deep.  It  was  still 
falling  steadily,  in  large  flakes,  grey  in  the  upper  air,  feathery 
white  and  pure  against  the  opposite  houses  and  the  boles  of 
leafless  trees.  The  day  was  closing  in.  Up  and  down  the 
street  merchants  were  putting  up  their  shutters;  customers 
had  been  few  on  such  a  snowy  day.  Here  and  there  appeared 
a  figure,  booted  and  greatcoated,  emerging  from  a  tavern  or 
from  a  law  office  such  as  Rand's.  A  sledge  passed,  laden  with 


THE   LAW   OFFICE  189 

pine  and  hickory,  drawn  by  mules  with  jangling  bells;  and 
a  handful  of  boys  loosed  from  school  threw  down  their  bags 
of  books  and  fell  to  snowballing.  A  negro  shuffled  by  with 
a  spade  on  his  shoulder,  singing  as  he  went,  — 

"Didn't  my  Lawd  deliber  Daniel, 
Did  n't  my  Lawd  deliber  Daniel, 
An*  why  not  ebery  man  ? 
He  delibered  Daniel  from  de  lions'  den, 
An'  de  Hebrew  Chillern  from  de  furnace, 
He  delibered  David  from  de  han'  of  Saul, 
An'  why  not  ebery  man  ? " 

Rand  turned  into  Governor  Street,  climbed  its  white 
ascent,  and  struck  across  the  Capitol  Square.  Above  him 
every  bough  had  its  weight  of  snow,  and  seen  through  the  drift 
ing  veil  the  pillared  Capitol  looked  remote  as  that  building 
of  which  it  was  a  copy.  He  walked  quickly,  with  a  light  and 
determined  step,  a  handsome  figure  in  a  many-caped  coat  of 
bottle  green,  striding  through  the  snow  toward  the  cheer  of 
home.  In  his  outer  man,  at  least,  the  eighteen  months  since 
his  marriage  had  wrought  a  change.  What  was  striking  then 
was  more  striking  now,  —  his  ease  and  might  of  frame,  the 
admirable  poise  of  his  head,  and  the  force  expressed  in  every 
feature,  the  air  of  power  that  was  about  him  like  an  emana 
tion.  The  difference  was  that  what  had  been  rude  strength 
was  now  strength  polished  and  restrained.  The  deeps  might 
hide  abrupt  and  violent  things,  but  the  surface  had  assumed 
a  fine  amenity.  Where  he  wished  to  learn  he  was  the  aptest 
pupil,  and  from  the  days  of  the  tobacco-field  he  had  longed 
for  this  smooth  lustre.  Not  Gideon,  but  the  mother,  spoke  in 
the  appreciation  a,nd  the  facility.  Manner  counted  for  much 
in  Lewis  Rand's  day;  the  critical  point  was  not  what  you  did, 
but  the  Way  you  did  it.  Rand  set  himself  to  learn  from  his 
wife  all  the  passwords  of  the  region  native  to  her,  but  into 
which  he  had  broken.  She  taught  him  that  code  with  a 


190  LEWIS   RAND 

courtesy  and  simplicity  exquisitely  high-minded  and  sweet, 
and  he  learned  with  quickness,  gratitude,  and  lack  of  any 
false  shame.  What  else  he  might  have  learned  of  her  he 
dimly  felt,  but  he  had  not  covenanted  with  existence  for 
qualities  that  would  war  with  a  hundred  purposes  of  his 
brain  and  will.  He  and  Jacqueline  were  lovers  yet.  At  the 
sight  of  each  other  the  delicate  fire  ran  through  their  veins; 
in  absence  the  mind  felt  along  the  wall  and  dreamed  of  the 
gardens  within.  If  the  woman  who  had  given  all  was  the 
more  constant  lover;  if  the  man,  while  his  passion  sweetened 
all  his  life,  yet  bowed  before  his  great  idol  and  fought  and 
slaved  for  Power,  it  was  according  to  the  nature  of  the  two, 
and  there  was  perhaps  no  help. 

He  left  the  Capitol  Square  and  went  on  toward  the  house 
he  had  retaken  for  the  second  winter  in  Richmond.  Few  were 
afoot,  though  now  and  then  a  sleigh  went  by.  Rand's  mind 
as  he  walked  was  busy,  not  with  the  debate  of  to-morrow  or 
the  visitor  of  to-night,  the  Mathews  trial  or  Tom  Mocket's 
puerile  schemes,  but  with  the  letter  in  the  Gazette  signed 
"  Aurelius."  It  had  been  an  attack,  able  beyond  the  common, 
certainly  not  upon  Lewis  Rand,  but  upon  the  party  which,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  generality,  he  yet  most  markedly  represented. 
In  the  inflamed  condition  of  public  sentiment  such  attacks 
were  of  weekly  occurrence ;  the  wise  man  was  he  who  put 
them  by  unmoved.  For  the  most  part  Rand  was  wise.  Fed 
eral  diatribes  upon  the  Tripoli  war,  the  Florida  purchase,  the 
quarrel  with  Spain,  Santo  Domingo,  Neutral  Trade,  and 
Jefferson's  leanings  toward  France  left  him  cold.  This  letter 
in  the  Gazette  had  not  done  so.  It  had  gone  to  the  sources 
of  things,  analyzing  with  a  coolness  and  naming  with  a  pro 
priety  the  more  remarkable  that  it  acknowledged,  on  certain 
sides,  a  community  of  thought  with  the  party  attacked. 
The  result  was  that,  as  in  civil  war,  the  quarrel, .  through 


THE   LAW   OFFICE  191 

understanding,  was  the  more  determined.  The  man  who 
signed  "  Aurelius"  had  not  spared  to  point  out,  with  a  cer 
tain  melancholy  sternness,  the  plague  spots,  the  defenceless 
places.  Moreover,  throughout  his  exposition  there  ran  a 
harsh  and  sombre  thread,  now  felt  in  denunciation  and  now  in 
ironic  praise.  There  was  more  than  unveiling  of  the  weakness 
of  any  human  policy  or  party;  the  letter  was  in  part  a  com- 
mination  of  individual  conduct.  No  name  was  used,  no  direct 
reference  given  or  example  quoted;  but  one  with  acumen 
might  guess  there  was  a  man  in  mind  when  the  writer  sat  in 
judgment.  The  writer  himself  was  perhaps  not  aware  of  the 
fulness  of  this  betrayal,  but  Lewis  Rand  was  aware.  The 
paper  had  angered  him,  and  he  had  not  lacked  intention  of 
discovering  at  whose  door  it  was  to  be  laid.  He  had  enemies 
enough  —  but  this  one  was  a  close  observer.  The  subtlety  of 
the  rebuke  shook  him.  How  had  the  writer  who  signed  "  Au 
relius"  known  or  divined?  He  thought  of  Major  Edward 
Churchill,  but  certain  reasons  made  him  sure  the  letter  was 
not  his.  And  now  it  seemed  that  it  was  Ludwell  Cary's. 

Rand's  lips  set  closely.  Ludwell  Cary  might  not  know 
where  all  his  shafts  were  striking,  but  Rand  felt  the  sting. 
Fair  fight  in  the  courtroom,  —  that  was  one  thing,  —  but  this 
paper  was  wrought  of  sterner  stuff.  There  was  in  it  even  a 
solemnity  of  warning.  Rand's  soul,  that  was  in  the  grasp  of 
Giant  Two-Ways,  writhed  for  a  moment,  then  lay  still  again. 
With  his  characteristic  short  laugh,  he  shook  off  the  feeling 
that  he  mistook  for  weakness,  dismissed  the  momentary 
abashment,  and  pursued  his  way  through  the  snowy  streets. 
The  question  now  in  his  mind  was  whether  or  no  he  should 
make  his  resentment  plain  to  Ludwell  Cary.  At  long  intervals, 
three  or  four  times  in  the  winter,  perhaps,  it  was  the  latter's 
custom  to  lift  the  knocker  of  Rand's  door,  and  to  sit  for  an 
hour  in  Jacqueline's  drawing-room.  Sometimes  Rand  was 


192  LEWIS   RAND 

there,  sometimes  not;  Gary's  coming  had  grown  to  be  a  habit 
of  the  house,  quiet,  ordered,  and  urbane  as  all  its  habits  were. 
Its  master  now  determined,  after  a  moment's  sharp  debate, 
to  say  nothing  that  he  might  not  have  said  before  he  knew  the 
identity  of  that  writer  to  the  Gazette.  He  was  conscious  of 
no  desire  for  immediate  retaliation;  these  things  settled  them 
selves  in  the  long  run.  He  did  not  intend  speaking  of  the 
matter  to  Jacqueline.  Pride  forbade  his  giving  Gary  reason 
to  surmise  that  he  had  hit  the  truth.  Rand  was  willing  to 
believe  that  many  of  the  shafts  were  chance-sent.  The  re 
flection  hardly  lessened  his  anger,  but  it  enabled  him  to  thrust 
the  matter  behind  him  to  the  limbo  of  old  scores. 

He  was  crossing  Broad  Street  when  the  door  of  a  house 
before  him  opened,  and  a  young  man,  with  a  gay  word  of  fare 
well  to  some  one  in  the  doorway,  ran  down  the  steps  and  into 
ne  snowy  street.  It  was  Fairfax  Gary.  Rand  and  he,  passing, 
lifted  their  hats,  but  they  did  not  speak.  Had  it  been  the  elder 
Gary,  there  would  have  been  a  moment's  tarrying,  an  ex 
change  of  courteous  speech.  But  Fairfax  Gary  made  no  secret 
of  his  enmity.  If  he  did  not  offensively  publish  it,  if  he  was, 
indeed,  for  so  young  a  man,  somewhat  grimly  silent  upon 
those  frequent  occasions  when  Rand  was  talked  of,  the  hos 
tility  was  defined,  and  at  times  frank.  He  went  on  now 
with  his  handsome  head  held  high.  Rand  looked  after  him 
with  a  curious,  even  a  wistful  smile  upon  his  lips.  He  was 
himself  a  man  young  in  years  and  strength  of  passion,  but 
older  far  in  experience  and  in  thought.  He  did  not  dislike 
Fairfax  Gary;  he  thought  indeed  that  the  young  man's  spirit, 
bearing,  and  partisanship  were  admirable.  His  smile  was  for 
the  thought  that  had  lightened  through  his  mind :  "  If  in  after 
years  I  could  have  a  son  like  that!"  He  wanted  children;  he 
wanted  a  son.  Rand  sighed.  The  day  had  been  vexatious, 
and  there  were  heavy  questions  yet  to  settle  before  the  evening 


THE    LAW    OFFICE 

closed.  After  all,  what  was  the  use,  since  Jacqueline  cared 
nothing  for  baubles,  and  there  was  no  child !  Better  live  out 
his  days  at  Roselands,  a  farmer  and  a  country  lawyer!  He 
shook  off  the  weight,  summoned  all  his  household  troop  of 
thoughts,  and  went  on  homewards  through  the  falling  snow. 


CHAPTER  XV 

COMPANY   TO    SUPPER 

JACQUELINE  arranged  the  flowers,  cut  from  her  win 
dow  stand,  in  the  porcelain  vase,  and  set  the  vase  with 
care  in  the  centre  of  the  polished  table.  All  was  in 
order,  from  the  heavy  damask  napkins  and  the  Chelsea  plates 
to  the  silver  candlesticks  and  the  old  cut-glass.  She  turned 
her  graceful  head,  and  called  to  her  husband,  whose  step  she 
heard  in  the  adjoining  room.  He  came,  and,  standing  beside 
her,  surveyed  the  mahogany  field.  "Is  there  anything  lack 
ing?"  she  asked. 

He  turned  and  kissed  her.  "Only  that  you  should  be 
happy!"  he  said. 

"If  I  am  not,"  she  answered,  "he  will  never  find  it  out! 
But  when  I  see  him,  I  shall  hear  that  fatal  shot!" 

"He  will  make  you  quite  forget  it.   All  women  like  him." 

"Then  I  shall  be  the  exception.  General  Hamilton  was 
Uncle  Edward's  friend.  At  Fontenoy  they'll  call  it  insult 
that  I  have  talked  with  this  man!" 

"They  will  not  know,"  Rand  replied.  "It  was  an  honest 
duel  fought  nigh  two  years  ago.  Forget  —  forget!  There's 
so  much  one  must  forget.  Besides,  others  are  forgiving.  There 
is  not  now  the  old  enmity  between  him  and  the  Federalists." 

"No  ?"  said  Jacqueline.    "Why  is  that  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  old  differences  are  being  smoothed 
over.  It  is  rather  the  Republicans  who  are  out  with  him." 

"I  know  that  he  is  no  friend  to  Mr.  Jefferson. " 

"No,  he  is  no  friend  to  Mr.  Jefferson.  The  room  looks 
well,  sweetheart.  But  some  day  you  shall  have  a  much 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  195 

grander  one,  all  light  and  splendour,  and  larger  flowers  than 
these—" 

His  wife  rested  her  head  against  his  shoulder.  "I  don't 
want  it,  Lewis.  It  is  only  you  who  care  for  magnificence. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  that  you  should  so  care." 

"It  is  my  mother  in  me,"  he  answered.    "She  cared - 
poor  soul.   But  I  don't  want  magnificence  for  myself.   I  want 
it  for  you  — " 

"You  must  not  want  it  for  me,"  cried  Jacqueline,  with 
wistful  passion.  "I  am  happy  here,  and  I  am  happy  at  Rose- 
lands —  but  I  was  happiest  of  all  in  the  house  on  the  Three- 
Notched  Road!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Rand  spoke  slowly. 
"  I  was  not  born  for  content.  I  am  urged  on  —  and  on  —  and 
I  cannot  always  tell  right  from  wrong.  There  is  a  darkness 
within  me  —  I  wish  it  were  light  instead!"  He  laughed. 
"  But  if  wishes  were  horses,  beggars  might  ride !  —  And 
you've  cut  all  your  pretty  bright  flowers!  After  supper,  be 
fore  we  begin  our  talk,  you  must  sing  to  him.  They  say  his 
daughter  is  an  accomplished  and  beautiful  woman.  But  you 
—  you  are  Beauty,  Jacqueline!" 

The  knocker  sounded.  "That  is  he,"  exclaimed  Rand,  and 
went  into  the  hall  to  welcome  his  guest.  Jacqueline  returned 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  waited  there  before  the  fire.  She 
was  dressed  in  white,  with  bare  neck  and  arms  and  her 
mother's  amethysts  around  her  throat.  In  a  moment  the  two 
men  entered.  "This  is  my  wife,  Colonel  Burr,"  said  Rand. 

Jacqueline  curtsied.  A  small,  slight,  black-eyed,  and  smil 
ing  gentleman  bowed  low,  and  with  much  grace  of  manner 
took  and  kissed  her  hand.  "Mr.  Rand,  now  I  understand 
the  pride  in  your  voice !  Madam,  I  wish  my  daughter  Theo- 
dosia  were  with  me.  She  is  my  pride,  and  when  I  say  that 
you  two  would  be  friends,  I  pay  you  both  a  compliment!" 


196  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  have  heard  much  of  her,"  answered  Jacqueline,  "and 
nothing  but  good.  My  husband  tells  me  that  you  have  been 
in  the  South  —  and  in  Virginia  we  are  welcoming  you  with 
a  snowstorm !" 

"The  cold   is   all  outside,"  said  Colonel  Burr.    "Permit 


me—" 


He  handed  his  hostess  to  the  green-striped  sofa,  and  seated 
himself  beside  her  with  a  sigh  of  appreciation  for  the  warmth 
and  soft  light  of  the  pleasant  room,  and  the  presence  of 
woman.  "Your  harp!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  should  have 
brought  a  sheaf  of  Spanish  songs  such  as  the  ladies  sing  to 
the  guitar  in  New  Orleans !  —  My  dear  sir,  your  fair  wife  and 
my  Theodosia  must  one  day  sing  together,  walk  hand  in 
hand  together,  in  that  richer,  sweeter  land !  They  shall  use 
the  mantilla  and  wield  the  fan.  Crowns  are  too  heavy  — 
they  shall  wear  black  lace!" 

He  spoke  with  not  unpleasant  brusqueness,  a  military 
manner  tempered  with  gallantry,  and  he  looked  at  Rand  with 
quick  black  eyes.  "Yes,  they  must  meet,"  said  Rand  simply. 
He  spoke  composedly,  but  he  had  nevertheless  a  moment's 
vision  of  Jacqueline,  away  from  the  snow  and  the  storm, 
walking  in  beauty  through  the  gardens  of  a  far  country.  He 
saw  her  with  a  circlet  of  gold  upon  her  head,  a  circlet  of 
Mexican  gold.  Crowns  were  heavy,  but  men  —  ay,  and 
women,  too!  —  fought  for  them.  Hers  should  be  light  and 
fanciful  upon  her  head.  She  should  wear  black  lace  if  she 
chose,  —  though  always  he  liked  her  best  in  white,  —  in  her 
kingdom,  in  the  kingdom  he  was  going  to  help  Aaron  Burr 
establish.  —  No!  in  the  kingdom  Aaron  Burr  should  help 
Lewis  Rand  establish!  His  dream  broke.  He  was  not  sure 
that  he  meant  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  Burr.  It 
depended  —  it  depended.  But  still  he  saw  Jacqueline  in  trail 
ing  robes,  with  the  gold  circlet  on  her  head. 


COMPANY    TO   SUPPER  197 

Joab  at  the  door  announced  supper,  and  the  three  went 
into  the  dining-room,  where  the  red  geraniums  glowed  be 
tween  the  candles.  Jacqueline  took  her  place  behind  the 
coffee-urn,  and  Joab  waited. 

The  meal  went  pleasantly  on.  Colonel  Burr  was  accom 
plished  in  conversation,  now  supple  and  insinuating  as  a 
courtier,  now  direct,  forceful,  even  plain,  as  became  an  old 
soldier  of  the  Revolution,  always  agreeable,  and  always  with 
a  fine  air  of  sincerity.  The  daughter  of  Henry  Churchill  did 
not  lack  wit,  charm,  and  proper  fire,  and  the  Virginia  hostess 
never  showed  her  private  feelings  to  a  guest.  She  watched 
over  the  stranger's  comfort  with  soft  care,  and  met  his  talk 
with  graceful  readiness.  He  spoke  to  her  of  her  family:  of 
her  grandfather,  whose  name  had  been  widely  known,  of  her 
father,  whose  praises  he  had  heard  sung,  of  Major  Churchill, 
whom  he  had  met  in  Philadelphia  in  General  Washington's 
time.  He  spoke  of  her  kinsmen  with  an  admiration  which 
went  far  toward  including  their  opinions.  Jacqueline  mar 
velled.  Surely  this  gentleman  was  a  Democrat-Republican, 
lately  the  Vice- President  of  that  party's  electing.  It  was  not 
two  years  since  he  had  slain  General  Hamilton;  and  now, 
in  a  quiet,  refined  voice,  he  was  talking  of  Federalists  and 
Federal  ways  with  all  the  familiarity,  sympathy,  and  ease  of 
one  born  in  the  fold  and  contented  with  his  lot.  She  won 
dered  if  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  party,  and  while  he  was 
talking  she  was  proudly  thinking,  "The  Federalists  will  not 
have  him  —  no,  not  if  he  went  on  his  knees  to  them  !"  And 
then  she  thought,  "He  is  a  man  without  a  country." 

Rand  sat  somewhat  silent  and  distrait,  his  mind  occupied 
in  building,  building,  now  laying  the  timbers  this  way  and 
now  that;  but  presently,  upon  his  guest's  referring  to  him 
some  point  for  elucidation,  he  entered  the  conversation,  and 
thenceforth,  though  he  spoke  not  a  great  deal,  his  personality 


198  LEWIS   RAND 

dominated  it.  The  acute  intelligence  opposite  him  took  faint 
alarm.  "I  am  bargaining  for  a  supporter,"  Burr  told  him 
self,  "not  for  a  rival,"  and  became  if  possible  more  deferen 
tially  courteous  than  before.  The  talk  went  smoothly  on, 
from  Virginia  politics  to  the  triumphal  march  of  Napoleon 
through  Europe;  from  England  and  the  death  of  Pitt  to  the 
Spanish  intrigues,  and  so  back  to  questions  of  the  West; 
and  to  references,  which  Jacqueline  did  not  understand,  to 
the  Spanish  Minister,  Casa  Yrujo,  to  the  English  Mr.  Merry, 
and  to  Messieurs  Sauve,  Derbigny,  and  Jean  Noel  Destrehan 
of  New  Orleans. 

Joab  took  away  the  Chelsea  plates  and  dishes,  brushed  the 
mahogany,  and  placed  before  his  master  squat  decanters  of 
sherry  and  Madeira.  The  flowing  talk  took  a  warmer  tone, 
and  began  to  sing  with  the  music  of  the  South  and  the  golden 
West;  to  be  charged  with  Spanish,  French,  and  Indian  names, 
with  the  odour  of  strange  flowers,  the  roll  of  the  Mississippi, 
and  the  flashing  of  coloured  wings.  It  was  the  two  men  now 
who  spoke.  Jacqueline,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  half  listened 
to  the  talk  of  the  Territory  of  Orleans,  the  Perdido,  and  the 
road  to  Mexico,  half  dreamed  of  what  they  might  be  doing  at 
Fontenoy  this  snowy  night.  The  knocker  sounded.  "That 
is  Adam  Gaudylock,"  exclaimed  Rand.  "Joab,  show  Mr. 
Gaudylock  in." 

Jacqueline  rose,  and  Colonel  Burr  sprang  to  open  the  door 
for  her.  "We  may  sit  late,  Jacqueline,"  said  Rand,  and 
their  guest,  "Madam,  I  will  make  court  to  you  in  a  court 
some  day!" 

Gaudylock's  voice  floated  in  from  the  hall:  "Is  a  little 
man  with  him  ?  —  a  black-eyed  man  ?"  She  passed  into  the 
drawing-room,  and,  pressing  her  brow  against  the  window- 
pane,  looked  out  into  the  night.  The  snow  had  ceased  to  fall, 
and  the  moon  was  struggling  with  the  breaking  clouds.  The 


COMPANY    TO   SUPPER  199 

door  opened  to  admit  her  husband,  who  came  for  a  moment 
to  her  side.  "It  is  not  snowing  now,"  he  said.  "A  visitor  will 
hardly  knock  on  such  a  night.  If  by  chance  one  should  come, 
say  that  I  am  engaged  with  a  client,  make  my  excuses,  and  as 
soon  as  possible  get  rid  of  him.  On  no  account  —  on  no  ac 
count,  Jacqueline,  would  I  have  it  known  that  Aaron  Burr  is 
here  to-night.  This  is  important.  I  will  keep  the  doors  shut, 
and  we  will  not  speak  loudly."  He  turned  to  go,  then  hesi 
tated.  "On  second  thoughts,  I  will  tell  Joab  to  excuse  us  both 
at  the  door.  For  you  —  do  not  sit  up,  dear  heart !  It  will  be 
late  before  our  business  is  done." 

He  was  gone.  Jacqueline  went  back  to  the  fire  and,  sitting 
down  beneath  the  high  mantel,  opened  the  fifth  volume  of 
Clarissa  Harlowe.  She  read  for  a  while,  then  closed  the 
book,  and  with  her  chin  in  her  hand  fell  to  studying  the 
ruddy  hollows  and  the  dropping  coals.  Perhaps  half  an  hour 
passed.  The  door  opened,  and  she  looked  up  from  her  pic 
ture  in  the  deep  hollows  to  see  Ludwell  Cary  smiling  down 
upon  her  and  holding  out  his  hand.  "  Perhaps  I  should  have 
drifted  past  with  the  snow,"  he  said,  "  but  the  light  in  the 
window  drew  me,  and  I  heard  to-day  from  Fontenoy.  Mr. 
Rand,  I  know,  is  at  home." 

"Yes,"  answered  Jacqueline,  rising,  "but  he  is  much 
engaged  to-night  with  —  with  a  friend.  Did  Joab  not  tell 
you?" 

"Mammy  Chloe  let  me  in.  I  did  not  see  Joab.  I  am 
sorry  — " 

He  hesitated.  There  came  a  blast  of  wind  that  rattled  the 
boughs  of  the  maple  outside  the  window.  The  fire  leaped  and 
the  shadows  danced  in  the  corners  of  the  room.  Jacqueline 
knew  that  it  was  cold  outside  —  her  visitor's  coat  was  wet 
with  snow.  Sitting  there  before  the  fire  she  had  been  lonely, 
and  her  heart  was  hungry  for  news  from  home. 


200  LEWIS   RAND 

"May  I  stay  a  few  minutes?"  asked  Gary.  "I  will  read 
you  what  Major  Edward  says  of  Fontenoy." 

She  was  far  from  dreaming  how  little  Rand  would  wish 
this  visitor  to  know  of  his  affairs  that  night.  Her  knowledge 
extended  no  further  than  the  fact  that  for  some  reason  Colo 
nel  Burr  did  not  wish  it  known  that  he  was  in  Richmond. 
She  listened,  but  the  walls  were  thick,  and  she  heard  no  sound 
from  the  distant  dining-room.  Gary  would  know  only  what 
she  told  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  would  be  gone.  "I 
should  like  to  hear  the  letter,"  she  said,  and  motioned  to  the 
armchair  beside  the  hearth.  He  took  it,  and  she  seated  herself 
opposite  him,  upon  an  old,  embroidered  tabouret.  Between 
them  the  fire  of  hickory  logs  burned  softly;  without  the 
curtained  windows  the  maple  branches,  moved  by  the  wind, 
struck  at  intervals  against  the  eaves.  Jacqueline  faced  the 
door.  It  was  her  intention,  should  she  hear  steps,  to  rise  and 
speak  to  Lewis  in  the  hall  without. 

The  letter  which  Gary  drew  from  his  breast  pocket  was 
from  Major  Churchill.  That  he  did  not  read  it  all  was  due  to 
his  correspondent's  choice  of  subjects  and  great  plainness  of 
speech ;  but  he  read  what  the  Major  had  to  say  of  Fontenoy, 
of  the  winter  weather  and  the  ailing  slaves,  of  Mustapha,  of 
county  deaths  and  marriages,  of  the  books  he  had  been  read 
ing,  and  the  men  to  whom  he  wrote.  Major  Edward's  strain 
was  ironic,  fine,  and  very  humanly  lonely.  Jacqueline's  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  all  the  flames  of  the  fire  ran  together  like 
shaken  jewels. 

"Almost  all  the  rest,"  said  Cary,  "has  to  do  with  politics. 
I  will  not  read  you  what  he  has  to  say  of  us  slight,  younger 
men  and  the  puny  times  in  which  we  live.  But  this  will  inter 
est  you  —  this  is  of  general  import." 

He  turned  the  page  and  read :  "  I  have  to-day  a  letter  from 
G.  Morris  with  the  latest  mischief  from  the  North.  Aaron 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  201 

Burr  is  going  West,  but  with,  I  warrant  you,  no  thought  of 
the  setting  sun.  The  Ancient  Iniquity  in  Washington  smiles 
with  thin  lips  and  pronounces  that  all  men  and  Aaron  Burr 
are  unambitious,  unselfish,  and  peace-loving  —  but  none  the 
less,  he  looks  askance  at  the  serpent's  windings.  The  friends 
of  Burr  are  not  the  friends  of  Jefferson.  There  are  Federal 
ists  —  't  is  said  they  increase  in  numbers  —  who  do  not  wish 
the  former  ill;  myself  I  am  not  of  them.  Colonel  Burr  desired 
that  duel;  he  lay  in  wait  for  the  affront  which  should  be  his 
opportunity;  he  murdered  Hamilton.  He  risked  his  own  life 
—  very  true,  the  majority  of  murderers  do  the  same.  The 
one  who  does  not  is  a  dastard  in  addition — voila  tout! 

"  Burr  quits  the  East,  and  all  men  know  that  the  West, 
like  Israel  of  old,  is  weary  of  an  Idea  and  would  like  to  have 
a  King.  If  the  world  revolves  this  way  much  longer,  the  Man 
of  the  People  will  not  be  asked  to  write  the  next  Declaration 
of  Independence,  and  the  country  west  of  the  Ohio  will  be 
celebrating  not  the  Fourth  of  July  but  an  eighteenth  Prairial. 
Aaron  Burr  and  his  confederates  intend  an  Empire.  'T  is 
said  there  are  five  hundred  men  in  his  confidence  here  in  the 
East,  and  that  the  chief  of  these  wait  but  for  a  signal  from 
him  or  from  Wilkinson  —  whereupon  they'll  follow  him  and 
he'll  make  them  dukes  and  princes. 

"Like  Macbeth,  he  has  done  his  murder  and  is  on  his 
way  to  be  crowned  at  Scone.  He  has  not  a  wife,  but  he  has 
a  daughter  ambitious  as  himself.  She  has  a  son.  He  sees  his 
line  secured.  He  has  suborned  other  murderers  and  made 
traitors  of  honest  men  —  and  our  Laputa  philosopher  at 
Washington  smiles  and  says  there  is  nothing  amiss ! 

"  May  I  be  gathered  soon  out  of  this  cap-and-bells  demo 
cracy  to  some  Walhalla  where  I  may  find  Hamilton  and 
General  Washington  and  be  at  peace !  This  world  is  grow 
ing  wearisome  to  me. 


202  LEWIS   RAND 

"G.  Morris  speaks  of  the  bulk  of  his  news  as  report 
merely,  but  I'll  stake  my  head  the  report  is  true." 

Gary  ceased  to  read.  Jacqueline  sat  motionless,  and  in  the 
silence  of  the  room  they  heard  the  wind  outside  and  the  tap 
ping  of  the  maple  branches. 

"If  I  were  Mr.  Jefferson,"  said  Gary  presently,  "I  would 
arrest  Colonel  Burr  this  side  of  the  Ohio.  He  has  been  West 
too  often;  he  is  in  the  East  now,  and  I  would  see  to  it  that  he 
remained  here.  But  Mr.  Jefferson  will  temporize,  and  Burr 
will  make  his  dash  for  a  throne.  Well !  he  is  neither  Caesar 
nor  Buonaparte;  he  is  only  Aaron  Burr.  He  is  the  adven 
turer,  not  the  Emperor.  The  danger  is  that  in  all  the  motley 
he  is  enlisting  there  may  be  a  Buonaparte.  Then  farewell  to 
this  poor  schemer  and  any  delusions  he  may  yet  nourish  as 
to  a  peaceful,  federated  West !  War  and  brazen  clamour  and 
the  yelling  eagles  of  a  conqueror!" 

He  spoke  with  conviction,  but  now,  as  though  to  lighten  his 
own  mood,  he  laughed.  "All  this  may  not  be  so,"  he  said. 
"It  may  be  but  a  dream  of  our  over-peaceful  night." 

Jacqueline  rose,  motioned  him  with  a  smile  to  keep  his  seat, 
and,  moving  to  an  escritoire  standing  near  the  door,  wrote  a 
line  upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  then  rang  the  bell  and  when  Joab 
appeared,  put  the  paper  into  his  hand.  "  Give  this  to  your  mas 
ter,"  she  said,  and  came  back  to  Cary  beside  the  fire.  She 
smiled,  but  he  saw  with  concern  that  she  was  very  pale,  and 
that  the  amethysts  were  trembling  at  her  throat.  "I  should 
not  have  read  you  this  letter,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is  over-caustic, 
over-bitter.  Do  not  let  it  trouble  you.  You  have  grown  pale ! " 

She  bent  over  the  fire  as  if  she  were  cold.  "It  is  nothing. 
Yes,  I  was  troubled  —  I  am  always  troubled  when  I  think 
of  Fontenoy.  But  it  is  over  now  —  and  indeed  I  wanted 
to  hear  Uncle  Edward's  letter."  She  straightened  herself 
and  turned  to  him  a  smiling  face.  "And  now  tell  me  of 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  203 

yourself!  You  are  looking  worn.  Men  work  too  hard  in 
Richmond.  Oh,  for  the  Albemarle  air!  The  snow  will  be 
white  to-morrow  on  my  fir  tree,  and  Deb  will  have  to  throw 
crumbs  for  the  birds.  I  have  learned  a  new  song.  When  next 
you  come,  I  will  sing  it  to  you." 

"Will  you  not,"  asked  Gary,  —  "will  you  not  sing  it  to 
me  now  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.  "Not  now.  How  the  branches  strike 
against  the  roof  to-night!" 

As  she  spoke  she  moved  restlessly,  and  Gary  saw  the  ame 
thysts  stir  again.  A  thought  flashed  through  his  mind.  It 
had  to  do  with  Lewis  Rand,  of  whom  he  often  thought,  some 
times  with  melancholy  envy,  sometimes  with  strong  dislike, 
sometimes  with  unwilling  admiration,  and  always  with  painful 
curiosity.  Now,  the  substance  of  Major  Churchill's  letter 
strongly  in  mind,  with  senses  rendered  more  acute  and  emo 
tions  heightened  as  they  always  were  in  the  presence  of  the 
woman  he  had  not  ceased  to  love,  troubled,  too,  by  something 
in  her  demeanor,  intangibly  different  from  her  usual  frank 
welcome,  he  suddenly  and  vividly  recalled  a  much-applauded 
speech  that  Rand  had  made  three  days  before  in  a  public 
gathering.  It  had  included  a  noteworthy  display  of  minute 
information  of  western  conditions,  extending  to  the  physical 
features  of  the  country  and  to  every  degree  of  its  complex 
population.  One  sentence  among  many  had  caught  Gary's  at 
tention,  had  perplexed  him,  and  had  remained  in  his  memory 
to  be  considered  afterwards,  closely  and  thoughtfully.  There 
was  one  possible  meaning  — 

Gary  crumpled  the  letter  in  his  hand.  Rand's  speech  per 
plexed  him  no  longer.  That  was  it  —  that  was  it !  His  breath 
came  quickly.  He  had  builded  better  —  he  had  builded  better 
than  he  knew,  when  he  wrote  that  paper  signed  "  Aurelius  " ! 

With  fingers  that  were  not  quite  steady  he  smoothed  and 


204  LEWIS    RAND 

refolded  Major  Churchill's  letter.  He  was  saying  to  himself, 
"What  does  she  know  ?  She  grew  pale.  Thou  suspicious  fool ! 
That  was  for  thought  of  home.  He  will  have  told  her  no 
thing —  nothing!  Her  soul  is  clear." 

He  pocketed  his  letter  and,  rising,  spoke  to  her  with  a 
chivalrous  gentleness.  "  I  will  go  now.  Do  not  let  the  thought 
of  Fontenoy  distress  you.  Do  you  remember  the  snow  man 
we  made  there  once,  wreathing  .his  head  with  holly  ?  But  I  '11 
tell  you  a  strange  thing,  —  even  on  such  a  night  as  this,  I 
always  see  Fontenoy  bathed  in  summer  weather!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered.    "I,  too.   Oh,  home!" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  "  You  '11  give  my  compliments  to 
Mr.  Rand?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "He  is  busy  to-night  with  a  client  from 
the  country.  He  works  too  hard." 

"Take  him  soon  to  Roselands  and  tie  him  there.  Sing  him 
To  Althea  and  make  him  forget."  He  bent  and  kissed  her 
hand.  "  Good-night  —  good-night ! " 

"Good-night,"  she  answered,  and  moved  with  him  to  the 
door.  Standing  there,  she  watched  him  through  the  hall  and 
out  of  the  house,  then  turned  and,  going  to  the  window,  pressed 
her  brow  against  the  pane  and  watched  him  down  the  street. 
The  night  had  cleared;  there  was  a  high  wind  and  many 
stars. 

In  Rand's  dining-room  the  three  men  sat  late  over  the  wine 
and  the  questions  that  had  brought  them  together,  but  at  last 
the  conference  was  somewhat  stormily  over.  Burr  and  Adam 
Gaudylock  left  the  house  together,  the  hunter  volunteering 
to  guide  the  stranger  to  his  inn.  It  was  midnight,  and  Colonel 
Burr  did  not  see  his  hostess.  He  sent  her  courtly  messages, 
and  he  pressed  Rand's  hand  somewhat  too  closely,  then  with 
his  most  admirable  military  air  and  frankest  smile,  thrust  his 
arm  through  Gaudylock's  and  marched  away.  Rand  closed 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  205 

the  door,  put  down  the  candle  that  he  held,  and  turned  into 
the  drawing-room. 

Before  the  dying  fire  he  found  Jacqueline  in  her  white 
gown,  the  amethysts  about  her  throat,  and  her  scarf  of  silver 
gauze  fallen  from  her  hand  upon  the  floor.  In  her  young  face 
and  form  there  should  have  been  no  hint,  no  fleeting  breath 
of  tragedy,  but  to-night  there  was  that  hint  and  that  breath. 
The  fire  over  which  she  bent  and  brooded  seemed  to  leave  her 
cold.  The  room  was  no  longer  brightly  lighted,  and  she  ap 
peared  mournfully  apart  of  the  hovering  shadows.  Her  spirit 
had  power  to  step  forth  and  clothe  the  flesh.  Almost  always 
she  looked  the  thing  she  felt.  Now,  in  the  half  light,  bent 
above  the  fading  coals,  she  looked  old.  Her  husband,  with  his 
hand  upon  the  mantel-shelf,  gazed  down  upon  her.  "  It  was 
wise  of  you  to  send  me  that  note.  Burr  and  I  might  have 
walked  in  here,  or  we  might  have  spoken  loudly.  I  heard 
Gary  when  he  went  out.  How  did  you  manage  ?" 

"He  asked  for  you.  I  told  him  that  you  were  engaged  with 
a  client  from  the  country.  Oh,  Lewis!" 

Rand  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "It  was  the  best  thing  you 
could  say.  I  would  not  have  had  him  guess  our  visitor  to 
night.  You  are  trembling  like  a  leaf!" 

"The  best  that  I  could  say!  —  I  don't  know  that.  I  feel 
like  a  leaf  in  the  wind !  I  did  not  understand  —  but  I  was 
afraid  for  you.  It  is  done,  but  I  prefer  to  tell  the  truth!" 

"I  prefer  it  for  you,"  said  Rand.  "To-night  was  mere 
unluckiness.  And  he  suspected  nothing  ? " 

"He  went  without  knowing  who  was  in  the  dining-room. 
Lewis,  what  is  there  to  suspect  ?" 

He  stood  looking  down  upon  her  with  a  glow  in  his  dark 
eyes  and  an  unwonted  red  in  his  cheek.  "Suspect  ?  There  is 
nothing  to  suspect.  But  to  expect  —  there  might  be  expecta 
tions,  my  Queen!" 


206  LEWIS   RAND 

"As  long  as  you  live  you  are  my  King!"  she  said.  "To 
night  I  am  afraid  for  my  King.  I  do  not  like  Colonel  Burr!" 

"I  am  sorry  for  that.  He  is  said  to  be  a  favourite  with 
women." 

"Lewis!"  she  cried,  "what  does  he  want  with  you  ?  Tell 
me!" 

So  appealing  was  her  voice,  so  urgent  the  touch  of  her 
hand,  that  with  a  start  Rand  awoke  from  his  visions  to  the 
fact  of  her  emotion.  His  eye  was  hawklike,  and  his  intui 
tion  unfailing.  "What  did  Ludwell  Gary  say  to  you?"  he 
demanded. 

She  took  her  scarf  from  the  floor,  wound  her  hands  in  it, 
and  clasped  them  tightly  before  her.  "When  I  told  him,  — 
Mammy  Chloe  let  him  in,  —  when  I  told  him  that  you  were 
busy  with  your  client,  he  thought  no  more  of  it.  And  then 
we  talked  of  Fontenoy,  and  he  read  me  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Edward.  Much  of  the  letter  was  about  Colonel  Burr,  and 
—  and  suspicions  that  were  aroused.  Uncle  Edward  called 
him  a  traitor  and  a  maker  of  traitors.  That  is  an  ugly  name, 
is  it  not  ?  Ludwell  Cary  did  not  think  the  rumour  false. 
He  said  that  if  he  were  Mr.  Jefferson,  he  would  arrest  Colo 
nel  Burr.  He,  also,  called  him  traitor.  I  can  tell  you  what 
he  said.  He  said,  'But  Mr.  Jefferson  will  temporize,  and 
Burr  will  make  his  dash  for  a  throne.  Well!  he  is  neither 
Caesar  nor  Buonaparte;  he  is  only  Aaron  Burr.  The  danger 
is  that  in  all  the  motley  he  is  enlisting  there  may  be  a  Buona 
parte.  Then  farewell  to  this  poor  schemer  and  any  delu 
sions  he  may  yet  nourish  as  to  a  peaceful,  federated  West! 
War  and  brazen  clamour  and  the  yelling  eagles  of  a  con 
queror!'  That  is  what  he  said." 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Rand  spoke  in  a  curious  voice, 
"Saul  among  the  prophets !  In  the  future,  let  us  have  less  of 
Ludwell  Carv." 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  207 

"Lewis,  why  did  Colonel  Burr  come  here  to-night  ?" 

Rand  turned  from  the  fire  and  began  to  pace  the  room, 
head  bent  and  hand  at  mouth,  thinking  rapidly.  His  wife 
raised  her  hands,  still  wrapped  in  the  silver  scarf,  to  her  heart, 
and  waited.  As  he  passed  for  the  third  time  the  tall  harp,  he 
drew  his  hand  heavily  across  the  strings.  The  room  vibrated 
to  the  sound.  Rand  came  back  to  the  hearth,  took  the  arm 
chair  in  which  Gary  had  sat,  and  drew  it  closer  to  the  glowing 
embers.  "Come,"  he  said.  "Come,  Jacqueline,  let  us  look 
at  the  pictures  in  the  fire." 

She  knelt  beside  him  on  the  braided  rug.  "Show  me  true 
pictures !  Home  in  Virginia,  and  honourable  life,  and  noble 
service,  and  my  King  a  King  indeed,  and  this  Colonel  Burr 
gone  like  a  shadow  and  an  ugly  dream  !  —  that  is  the  picture 
I  want  to  see." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  before  the  white  ash  and 
the  dying  heart  of  the  wood,  then  Rand  with  the  tongs  squared 
a  flaky  bed  and  drew  from  top  to  bottom  a  jagged  line. 
"This,"  he  said,  "is  the  great  artery;  this  is  the  Mississippi 
River."  He  drew  another  line.  "Here  to  the  southwest  is 
Mexico,  and  that  is  a  country  for  great  dreams.  There  the 
plantain  and  the  orange  grow  and  there  are  silver  and  gold  — 
and  the  warm  gulf  is  on  this  side,  and  the  South  Sea  far,  far 
away,  and  down  here  is  South  America.  The  Aztecs  lived  in 
Mexico,  and  Cortez  conquered  them.  He  burned  his  ships 
so  that  he  and  his  Spaniards  might  not  retreat.  Here  is 
the  land  west  of  the  Mississippi,  unknown  and  far  away. 
There  are  grassy  plains  that  seem  to  roll  into  the  sun,  and 
there  are  great  herds  of  game,  and  warlike  Indians,  and 
beyond  the  range  of  any  vision  there  are  vast  mountains 
white  with  snow.  Gold,  too,  may  be  there.  It  is  a  country 
enormous,  grandiose,  rich,  and  silent,  —  a  desert  waiting 
dumbly  for  the  strong  man's  tread."  He  turned  a  little  and 


208  LEWIS   RAND 

drew  another  line.  "To  this  side,  away,  away  to  the  east, 
here  where  you  and  I  are  sitting,  watching,  watching,  here  are 
the  Old  Thirteen, —  the  Thirteen  that  the  English  took  from 
the  Indians,  that  the  children  of  the  English  took  from  Eng 
land.  It  is  the  law  of  us  all,  Jacqueline,  the  law  of  the  Three 
Kingdoms :  the  battle  is  to  the  strong  and  the  race  to  the 
swift.  The  Old  Thirteen  are  stable;  let  them  rest !  Together 
they  make  a  great  country,  and  they  will  be  greater  yet. 
But  here  is  the  Ohio —  la  belle  Riviere,  the  Frenchmen  call  it. 
And  beyond  and  below  the  Ohio,  through  all  the  gigantic 
valley  of  a  river  so  great  that  it  seems  a  fable,  south  to  New 
Orleans,  and  westward  to  the  undiscovered  lies  the  country 
that  is  to  be !  And  Napoleon,  in  order  that  he  may  brandish 
over  England  one  thunderbolt  the  more,  sells  it  for  a  song !  — 
and  we  buy  it  for  a  song  —  and  not  one  man  in  fifty  guesses 
that  we  have  bought  the  song  of  the  future !  The  man  who 
bought  it  knows  its  value  —  but  Mr.  Jefferson  cares  only 
for  Doric  lays.  He'll  not  have  the  Phrygian.  He  dreams  of 
cotton  and  olives,  of  flocks  and  herds,  rock  salt  and  peaceful 
mines,  and  the  manors  of  the  Golden  Age,  —  all  gathered, 
tended,  worked,  administered  by  farmers,  school-teachers, 
and  philosophers!  The  ploughshare  (improved)  and  the 
pruning-hook,  a  pulpit  for  Dr.  Priestley,  and  a  statue  of  Tom 
Paine,  a  glass  house  where  the  study  of  the  mastodon  may 
lead  to  a  knowledge  of  man,  slavery  abolished,  and  war  ab 
horred,  the  lion  and  the  lamb  to  lie  down  together  and 
Rousseau  to  come  true  —  all  the  old  mirage  —  perfectibility 
in  plain  sight !  That  is  his  dream,  and  it  is  a  noble  one.  There 
is  no  room  in  it  for  the  wicked  man.  In  the  mean  time  he 
proposes  to  govern  this  land  of  milk  and  honey,  this  bought- 
and-paid-for  Paradise,  very  much  as  an  eastern  Despot  might 
govern  a  conquered  province.  The  inconsistencies  of  man 
must  disconcert  even  the  Thinker  up  in  the  skies.  Well  —  it 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  209 

happens  that  the  West  and  this  great  new  city  of  ours,  there 
at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  with  her  levees  and  her  ships,  her 
merchants,  priests,  and  lawyers,  do  not  want  government  by 
a  satrap.  They  want  an  Imperial  City  and  a  Caesar  of  their 
own.  Throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  vast  terri 
tory  there  is  deep  dissatisfaction — within  and  without,  for 
Spain  is  yet  arrogant  upon  its  borders.  The  Floridas  — 
Mexico  —  fret  and  fever  everywhere !  It  is  so  before  all 
changes,  Jacqueline.  The  very  wind  sighs  uneasily.  Then 
one  comes,  bolder  than  the  rest,  sees  and  takes  his  advantage. 
So  empires  and  great  names  are  made." 

"So  good  names  are  lost!"  she  cried.  "It  is  not  thus  that 
you  spoke  one  October  evening  on  our  way  from  Albemarle ! " 

Rand  dropped  the  iron  from  his  hand.  "That  was  a  year 
and  a  half  ago,  and  all  things  move  with  rapidity.  A  man's 
mind  changes.  That  evening!  —  I  was  in  Utopia.  And  yet, 
if  we  reigned,  —  if  we  two  reigned,  Jacqueline,  —  we  might 
reign  like  that.  We  might  make  a  kingdom  wise  and  great." 

"And  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  all  that  you  owe  to  him  ?  And 
your  letter  to  him  every  month  with  all  the  public  news  ? " 

"That  was  before  this  winter,"  he  answered.  "We  have  al 
most  ceased  to  write.  I  am  not  like  James  Madison  or  James 
Monroe.  I  cannot  follow  always.  Mr.  Jefferson  is  a  great 
man  —  but  it  is  hungry  dwelling  in  the  shadow  of  another." 

"  Better  dwell  in  the  shadow  forever,"  cried  Jacqueline, 
with  passion,  "than  to  reign  with  faithlessness  in  the  sun!" 

"I  am  not  faithless — " 

"So  Benedict  Arnold  thought!    Oh,  Lewis!" 

"You  speak,"  said  Rand  slowly,  "too  much  like  the 
Churchills  and  the  Carys." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Jacqueline  rose  and  stood  over 
against  him,  the  scarf  trailing  from  her  hand  and  the  ame 
thysts  rising  and  falling  with  her  laboured  breathing.  He 


210  LEWIS   RAND 

glanced  at  her  and  then  went  on :  "  Burr  leaves  Richmond 
to-morrow.  He  does  not  go  West  till  summer,  and  all  his 
schemes  may  come  to  naught.  What  he  does  or  does  not  do 
will  depend  on  many  things,  chiefly  on  whether  or  not  we  go 
to  war  with  Spain.  I  am  not  going  West  with  him  —  not  yet. 
I  have  let  him  talk.  I  have  brought  him  and  Adam  Gaudy- 
lock  together;  I  have  put  a  little  money  in  this  land  purchase 
of  his  upon  the  Washita,  and  I  have  given  him  some  advice. 
That  is  all  there  is  of  rebellion,  treason,  and  sedition, —  all  the 
cock-a-hoop  story !  Ludwell  Gary  may  keep  his  own  breath 
to  cool  his  own  porridge.  And  you,  Jacqueline,  you  who 
married  me,  you  have  not  a  soul  to  be  frighted  with  big 
words !  You  and  I  shall  walk  side  by  side." 

"Shall  we  ? "  she  said.  "That  will  depend.  I  '11  not  walk 
with  you  over  the  dead  —  dead  faith,  dead  hope,  dead 
honour ! " 

"I  shall  not  ask  you  to,"  he  answered.  "You  are  not  your 
self.  You  are  using  words  without  thought.  It  is  the  cold,  the 
lateness,  and  this  dying  fire  —  Ludwell  Gary's  arrogance  as 
well.  Dead  faith,  hope,  honour !  —  is  this  your  trust,  your 
faith?" 

"Lewis,  Lewis!" 

He  rose,  crossed  the  shadowy  space  between  them,  and  took 
her  hands.  "  Don't  fear  —  don't  fear !  We  two  will  always 
love.  Jacqueline,  there  is  that  within  me  that  will  not  rest, 
that  cries  for  power,  and  that  overrides  obstacles !  See  what  I 
have  overridden  since  the  days  beneath  the  apple  tree !  I  am 
not  idly  dreaming.  Conditions  such  as  exist  to-day  will  not 
arise  again.  Upon  this  continent  it  is  the  time  of  times  for  the 
bold  —  the  wisely  bold.  This  that  beckons  is  no  mirage  in 
the  West;  it  is  palpable  fact.  Say  that  I  follow  Burr  —  fol 
low!  overtake  and  pass  him!  He  has  a  tarnished  name  and 
fifty  years,  —  a  supple  rapier  but  a  shrunken  arm.  He's 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  211 

daring;  but  I  can  be  that  and  more.  He  plans;  I  can  achieve. 
I  am  no  dreamer  and  no  braggart  when  I  say  that  in  the 
West  I  can  play  the  Corsican.  What  can  I  do  here  ?  Become, 
perhaps,  Governor  of  Virginia ;  wait  until  Mr.  Jefferson  is 
dead,  and  Mr.  Madison  is  dead,  and  Mr.  Monroe  is  dead,  and 
then,  if  the  world  is  yet  Republican,  become  President  ?  The 
governorship  I  do  not  want;  the  presidency  is  but  a  chance, 
and  half  a  lifetime  off!  But  this  —  this,  Jacqueline,  is  real 
and  at  hand.  Say  that  I  go,  say  that  I  gain  a  throne  where 
you  and  I  may  sit  and  rule,  wise  and  great  and  sovereign, 
holding  kingdoms  for  our  children — " 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Jacqueline. 

Rand  drew  her  to  him.  "Don't  fear — don't  fear!  The 
child  will  come  —  we  want  him  so ! " 

"  Promise  me,"  she  cried,  —  "  promise  me  that  you  will  see 
Colonel  Burr  no  more,  write  to  him  no  more!  Promise  me 
that  you  will  put  all  this  away,  forever,  forever !  Oh,  Lewis, 
give  me  your  word  ! " 

"I  will  do  nothing  rash,"  he  said.  "We  will  go  back  to 
Roselands,  —  we  will  watch  and  wait  awhile.  Burr  himself 
does  not  go  West  until  the  summer.  Ere  then  I  will  persuade 
you.  That  first  July  evening,  under  the  mimosa  at  the  gate, 
even  then  this  thing  was  vaguely,  vaguely  in  my  mind." 

"Was  it?"  she  cried.    "Oh  me,  oh  me!" 

"You  are  wearied,"  he  said,  "chilled  and  trembling.  I 
wish  that  Ludwell  Cary  had  aired  his  views  elsewhere  to 
night  !  Put  it  all  from  your  mind  and  come  to  rest  —  " 

"Lewis,  if  ever  you  loved  me  —  if  ever  you  said  that  you 
would  give  me  proof  —  " 

"You  know  that  I  love  you." 

"Then,  as  I  gave  up  friends  and  home  for  you,  give  up  this 
thing  for  me !  No, no,  I  Jll  not  cease  to  beg"  —  She  slipped 
from  his  arm  to  her  knees.  "  Lewis,  Lewis,  this  is  not  the 


212  LEWIS   RAND 

road  —  this  is  not  the  way  to  freedom,  goodness,  happiness. 
Promise  me !  Oh,  Lewis,  if  ever  you  loved  me,  promise  me !  " 

From  Rand's  house  on  Shockoe  Hill  Ludwell  Gary  walked 
quickly  homeward  to  the  Eagle,  where  he  and  his  brothei 
lodged.  As  he  walked  he  thought  at  first,  hotly  and  bitterly 
enough,  of  Lewis  Rand  and  painfully  of  himself,  but  at 
length  the  solemnity  of  the  white  night  and  the  high  glitter  of 
the  stars  made  him  impatient  of  his  own  mood.  He  looked 
at  the  stars,  and  at  the  ivory  and  black  of  the  tall  trees,  and 
his  mind  calmed  itself  and  turned  to  think  of  Jacqueline. 

In  the  Eagle's  best  bedroom,  before  a  blazing  fire  and  a 
bottle  of  port,  he  found  Fairfax  Gary  deep  in  a  winged  chair 
and  a  volume  of  Fielding.  "  Well,  Fair  ? "  he  said,  with  his  arm 
upon  the  mantel-shelf  and  his  booted  foot  upon  the  fender. 

The  younger  Gary  closed  his  book  and  hospitably  poured 
wine  for  his  brother.  "Were  you  at  the  Amblers'  ? "  he  asked. 
"  It 's  a  night  for  one's  own  fireside.  I  went  to  the  Mayos',  but 
the  fair  Maria  is  out  of  town.  On  the  way  I  stopped  at 
Bowler's  Tavern  to  see  his  man  about  that  filly  we  were  talk 
ing  of,  and  I  had  a  glass  with  old  Bowler  himself.  He  let 
out  a  piece  of  news.  Who  d'  ye  think  is  in  town  and  under 
Bowler's  roof  ?  —  Aaron  Burr ! " 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Gary  said  quietly,  "Are  n't  you 
mistaken,  Fair  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  answered  the  other.  "He  came  in  a 
sloop  from  Baltimore  yesterday.  It  is  not  known  that  he 's  in 
town;  he  does  not  want  it  known.  He's  keeping  quiet, — 
perhaps  he  has  another  duel  on  his  conscience.  I  don't  believe 
old  Bowler  knew  he  had  let  the  cat  out.  Burr  leaves  to-mor 
row.  He  was  out  visiting  to-night." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Gary  demanded,  with  sudden 
sharpness. 


COMPANY   TO   SUPPER  213 

"  Bowler's  best  bedroom  in  darkness  —  no  special  pre 
parations  for  supper  —  Burr's  man  idling  in  the  kitchen  — 
mine  host  taking  no  caie  to  speak  k>wr,  —  in  short,  the  wed 
ding  guest  was  roaming.  I  wonder  where  he  was ! " 

The  elder  Gary  raised  and  drained  the  glass  of  wine.  He 
knew  where  Aaron  Burr  had  supped  and  passed  the  evening, 
and  a  coldness  that  was  not  of  the  night  crept  upon  him.  As 
for  Lewis  Rand,  he  cared  not  what  he  did  nor  why  he  did  it, 
but  for  Jacqueline  Churchill.  This  had  been  the  client 
from  the  country !  All  the  time  she  was  keeping  it  secret  that 
Burr  was  there.  She  had  turned  pale.  No  wonder !  —  the 
faithful  wife ! 

"Take  care,  that  glass  is  thin  —  you  '11  break  it !"  warned 
the  younger  Gary,  but  the  glass  had  snapped  in  the  elder's 
fingers. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Gary;  "too  frail  for  use!  I  'm  off  to  bed, 
Fair.  That  bill  comes  up  to-morrow,  and  it  means  a  bit 
ter  fight.  Good-night,  —  and  I  say,  Fair,  hold  your  tongue 
about  Aaron  Burr.  Good-night ! " 

In  his  room  he  put  out  the  candle,  parted  the  window  cur 
tains,  and  looked  upon  Orion,  icily  splendid  in  the  midnight 
sky.  "What  is  there  that  is  steadfast  ?"  he  thought.  "Does 
she  love  him  so  ? "  He  stood  for  a  long  time  looking  out  into 
the  night.  He  thought  of  that  evening  at  Fontenoy  when  he 
had  come  in  from  the  sultry  and  thunderous  air  and  had 
found  Rand  seated  in  the  drawing-room  and  Jacqueline  at  her 
harp,  singing  To  Althea,  - 

"  Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage." 

The  words  and  the  vision  of  Fontenoy  that  night  were 
yet  with  him  when  at  last  he  turned  from  the  window  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  bed,  where  he  finally  fell  asleep  with 
his  arm  flung  up  and  across  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AT  LYNCH'S 

RAND,  walking  hastily  through  the  hall  of  the  Capitol, 
came  out  into  the  portico.  Before  him,  between  the 
great  pillars,  the  landscape  showed  in  glittering  silver, 
in  the  brown  of  leafless  trees  and  the  hard  green  of  pine  and 
fir.  The  hill  fell  steep  and  white  to  the  houses  at  its  base  and 
to  the  trampled  street.  In  the  still  and  crystal  air  the  river 
made  itself  plainly  heard.  Across,  on  the  Chesterfield  side, 
the  woods  formed  a  long  smudge  of  umber  against  the  blue 
of  the  afternoon  sky. 

There  were  people  here  in  the  open  air  as  there  had  been 
in  the  corridor,  a  number  of  men  talking  loudly,  or  excitedly 
whispering,  or  in  silence  rolling  triumph  beneath  the  tongue, 
or  digesting  defeat.  Rand's  progress,  here  as  there,  brought 
a  change.  The  loud  talking  fell,  the  whisperers  turned,  the 
silent  found  their  voices,  and  there  arose  a  humming  note 
of  recognition  and  tribute.  Rand  had  carried  the  Albemarle 
Resolutions,  and  that  with  a  high  hand.  He  moved  through 
the  crowd,  acknowledging  with  a  bend  of  his  head  this  or 
that  man's  salute,  frankly  smiling  upon  good  friends,  and 
finely  unconscious  of  all  enemies,  until  at  the  head  of  the 
broad  steps  he  came  upon  Adam  Gaudylock  seated  with 
his  gun  beside  him,  smoking  reflectively  in  the  face  of  the 
Albemarle  Resolutions  and  the  general  excitement.  At  Rand's 
glance  he  rose,  took  up  the  gun,  and  slid  the  pipe  into  his 
beaded  pouch.  The  two  descended  the  steps  together. 

"I  am  going  to  Lynch's,"  said  Rand.  "The  stage  will 
soon  be  in  and  I  want  the  news.  Well  ? " 


AT   LYNCH'S  215 

"He's  off,"  answered  Gaudylock.  "Chaise  to  Fredericks- 
burg  at  six  this  morning.  Pitch  dark  and  no  one  stirring,  and 
he  as  chipper,  fresh,  and  pleased  as  a  squirrel  with  a  nut! 
Pshaw !  a  Creek  pappoose  could  read  his  trail !  He 's  from 
New  England  anyway.  I  want  a  Virginian  out  there ! " 

They  walked  on  down  the  white  hillside.  The  hunter, 
tawny  and  light  of  tread,  scarce  older  to  the  eye,  for  all  his 
wanderings,  than  the  man  beside  him,  glanced  aslant  with 
his  sea-blue  eyes.  "When  are  you  coming,  Lewis  ?" 

"Never,  I  think,"  said  Rand  abruptly;  then  after  a  mo 
ment's  silent  walking,  "They  should  better  clean  these  paths 
of  snow.  Mocket  says  a  brig  came  in  yesterday  from  the 
Indies;  —  attacks  on  Neutral  Trade  and  great  storms  at  sea. 
I  've  a  pipe  of  Madeira  on  the  ocean  that  I  hope  will  not 
go  astray.  I  wish  that  some  time  you  would  send  me  by  a 
wagon  coming  east  antlers  of  elk  for  the  hall  at  Roselands." 

"Why,  certainly!"  quoth  Gaudylock.  "And  so  you  are 
going  to  settle  down  like  every  other  country  gentleman,  — 
safe  and  snug,  winter  and  summer,  fenced  in  by  tobacco  and 
looking  after  negroes  ?  I  '11  send  you  the  skin  of  a  grizzly, 


too." 


"Thank  you,"  replied  Rand;  then  presently,  "I  dreamed 
last  night  —  when  at  last  I  got  to  sleep  —  of  my  father.  Do 
you  remember  how  he  used  to  stride  along  with  his  black 
hair  and  his  open  shirt  and  his  big  stick  in  his  hand  ?  I 
used  to  think  that  stick  a  part  of  him  —  just  his  arm  made 
long  and  heavy.  I  tried  once  to  burn  it  when  he  was  asleep. 
Ugh!" 

"I  dreamed,"  said  Gaudylock  imperturbably,  "of  a 
Shawnee  girl  who  once  wanted  me  to  stay  in  her  father's 
lodge.  'It  is  winter  in  the  forest,'  quoth  she,  'and  the  wolves 
begin  to  howl.  All  your  talk  of  places  where  the  river  runs 
through  flowers  and  the  pale  faces  build  great  villages  is  the 


216  LEWIS   RAND 

talk  of  singing  birds !  Stay  by  the  fire,  Golden-tongue ! '  and  I 
stayed  —  in  the  dream. 

"When  you  see  a  partridge 

Scurrying  through  the  grass. 
Fit  an  arrow  to  the  bow, 
For  a  man  will  pass ! 

Heigho!" 

"I  am  already,"  retorted  Rand,  "at  the  place  where  the 
river  runs  through  flowers  and  the  pale  faces  have  built  vil 
lages.  Who  will  say  that  I  did  not  cross  the  forest  ?  —  I  was 
years  in  crossing  it !  Here  is  Lynch's." 

The  coffee  house  on  Main  Street  was  the  resort  of  lawyers, 
politicians,  and  strangers  in  town,  and  towards  dusk,  when  the 
stage  and  post-rider  were  in,  a  crowded  and  noisy  place.  It 
was  yet  early  when  Rand  and  Gaudylock  entered,  and  neither 
the  mail-bag,  nor  many  habitues  of  the  place  had  arrived. 
The  room  was  quiet  and  not  over  brightly  lit  by  the  declining 
sun  and  the  flare  of  a  great,  crackling  fire.  There  were  a  num 
ber  of  tables  and  a  few  shadowy  figures  sipping  chocolate, 
wine,  or  punch.  Rand  led  the  way  to  a  corner  table,  and, 
sitting  down  with  his  back  to  the  room,  beckoned  a  negro 
and  ordered  wine.  "I  am  tired,  voice  and  mind,"  he  said 
to  Gaudylock,  "and  I  know  you  well  enough  to  neglect  you. 
Let  us  sit  still  till  the  papers  come." 

He  drank  his  wine  and,  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  rested 
his  forehead  upon  his  hand  and  closed  his  eyes.  Adam 
emptied  his  glass,  then,  leaning  back  in  his  corner,  surveyed 
the  room.  Two  men  came  and  seated  themselves  at  a  neigh 
bouring  table.  They  were  talking  in  lowered  voices,  but 
Gaudylock's  ears  were  exceedingly  keen.  "A  great  speech  ! " 
said  one.  "As  great  as  Mr.  Henry  ever  made.  Do  you  remem 
ber  old  Gideon  Rand?" 

The  other  shrugged.  "Yes;  and  I  remember  old  Stephen 


AT   LYNCH'S  217 

Rand,  Gideon's  father —  a  pirate  of  a  man,  sullen,  cruel,  and 
revengeful !  A  black  stock ! " 

"The  Waynes  were  not  angels  either  —  save  by  compari 
son,"  quoth  the  first.  "All  the  same  it  was  a  great  speech." 

"I  grant  you  that,"  said  the  other.  "Black  stock  or  not, 
we  '11  see  him  Governor  of  Virginia.  Curious,  is  n't  it  ? " 

They  became  aware  of  their  neighbours,  glanced  uneasily 
at  each  other,  raised  their  eyebrows,  and  changed  to  a  distant 
table.  Rand  made  no  sign  of  having  heard.  He  put  out  his 
hand  to  the  Burgundy,  filled  his  glass,  and  drank  it  slowly, 
then  closed  his  eyes  again.  A  figure,  half  buried  in  the  settle 
by  the  fire,  folded  a  month-old  journal  and,  rising,  displayed 
in  the  light  from  the  hickory  logs  the  faded  silk  stockings, 
the  velvet  short-clothes,  brocaded  coat,  and  curled  wig  of 
M.  Achille  Pincornet,  who  taught  dancing  each  winter  in 
Richmond,  as  in  summer  he  taught  it  in  Albemarle.  Mr. 
Pincornet,  snuff-box  and  handkerchief  in  hand,  looked  around 
him,  saw  the  two  at  the  corner  table,  and  crossed  to  them. 
"Mr.  Rand,  I  make  you  my  compliments.  I  was  in  the  gal 
lery.  Ah,  eloquence,  eloquence !  —  substance  persuasively 
put !  Minerva  with  the  air  of  Venus !  I,  too,  was  eloquent  in 
my  day!  Pray  honour  me!" 

Rand  touched  the  extended  snuff-box  with  his  fingers,  mut 
tered  an  absent  word  or  two,  and  again  sank  into  revery.  Mr. 
Pincornet,  with  an  affable,  "Ah,  hunter!"  to  Gaudylock, 
passed  on  to  greet  an  entering  compatriot,  the  good  Abbe 
Dubois. 

Rand  sat  still,  his  head  propped  upon  one  hand,  the  fingers 
of  the  other  moving  upon  the  board  before  him,  half  aim 
lessly,  half  deliberately,  as  though  he  wrote  in  a  dream.  Op 
posite  him  rested  Adam,  placid  as  an  eastern  god.  The  room 
began  to  fill  and  the  murmur  of  voices  to  deepen.  "The  Red 
Deer  is  late,"  affirmed  some  one.  "  Damned  heavy  roads ! " 


218  LEWIS   RAND 

"Then  they've  sent  on  a  rider!"  cried  another.  "Here's 
Lynch's  man  with  the  bag!" 

It  being  the  custom  to  address  letters,  papers,  and  pam 
phlets  to  gentlemen  at  "Lynch's  Coffee  House,"  there  was 
now  a  general  movement  of  interest  and  expectation.  A  negro 
carrying  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  advanced,  obsequious  and  smil 
ing,  to  a  high  desk  at  one  side  of  the  room  and  placed  thereon 
the  news  from  the  outer  world.  The  genial  Mr.  Lynch,  pro 
prietor  of  the  establishment,  took  his  place  behind  the  desk 
with  due  solemnity,  and  a  score  of  lawyers,  merchants,  and 
planters  left  tobacco,  wine,  julep,  and  toddy  to  press  around 
his  temporary  throne.  Every  day  at  this  hour  Lynch  mounted 
this  height,  and  he  dearly  loved  the  transient  importance.  Now 
he  solemnly  unfastened  the  bags,  drew  out  a  great  handful 
of  matter,  looked  it  over,  amid  laughing  clamour,  with  pursed 
lips  and  one  raised,  deprecating  hand,  then  in  a  cheerful, 
wheezing  voice  began  to  call  out  names,  —  "Major  Du  Val 
—  Major  Baker  —  Mr.  Allan  —  Mr.  Munford  —  Mr. 
Chavallie  —  Colonel  Harvie  —  Major  Gibbon  —  Dr. 
Foushee  —  Mr.  Warrington  —  Major  Willis  —  Mr.  Wick- 
ham—Mr.  Rand—" 

There  was  a  moment's  check  while  Lynch  craned  his  neck. 
"Mr.  Rand's  not  here,  I  believe?" 

"Lewis  Rand, —  no!"  quoth  Mr.  Wickham.  "What 
should  he  do  in  a  mere  coffee  house  with  mere  earthly  news 
papers  ?  He 's  walking  somewhere  in  a  laurel  garden  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening." 

Rand's  voice  came  out  of  the  depths  of  the  room  that  was 
now  just  light  enough  to  see  the  written  word.  "I  am  here, 
Mr.  Lynch."  He  rose  and  came  forward.  "Good-afternoon, 
gentlemen  —  good-afternoon,  Mr.  Wickham ! " 

"Did  you  hear?"  asked  Wickham  coolly.  "Well,  it  is  a 
laurel  garden,  you  know !  Mr.  Lynch,  let 's  have  candles  — " 


AT   LYNCH'S  219 

"Yes,  sir/'  said  Mr.  Lynch.  "Colonel  Ambler  —  Mr.  Car- 
rington  —  Mr.  Rutherfoord  —  Mr.  Page —  Mr.  Gary  —  Mr. 
Fairfax  Gary  —  " 

"They  are  coming  later,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Mason  —  Mr.  Carter  —  Mr.  Call  —  Mr. 
Cabell  — the  Abbe  Dubois  —  " 

The  list  went  on.  Candles  were  lighted  on  every  table  and 
on  the  mantel-shelf,  though  outside  the  windows  the  west  was 
yet  red.  Two  negroes  brought  and  tossed  into  the  cavernous 
fireplace  a  mighty  backlog  of  hickory.  The  sound  of  the  fire 
mingled  with  the  rustle  of  large  thin  sheets  of  paper,  the  crisp 
turning  of  Auroras,  National  Intelligencers,  Alexandria  Ex 
positors,  Gazettes  of  the  United  States,  excited  journals  of  an 
excited  time,  with  softly  uttered  interjections  and  running 
comment,  and  with  now  and  then  a  high,  clear  statement  of 
fact  or  rumour.  At  home,  the  hour's  burning  question  was 
that  of  English  and  Spanish  depredation  at  sea,  attack  upon 
neutral  ships,  confiscation  and  impressment  of  American  sail 
ors.  In  Washington,  the  resolutions  of  Gregg  and  Nicholson 
were  under  consideration,  and  all  things  looked  toward  the 
Embargo  of  a  year  later.  Abroad,  the  sign  in  the  skies  was 
still  Napoleon  —  Napoleon  —  Napoleon !  Now,  at  Lynch's,  as 
the  crowd  increased  and  the  first  absorbed  perusal  of  script 
and  print  gave  way  to  exchange  of  news  and  heated  discus 
sion,  the  room  began  to  ring  with  voices.  Broken  sentences, 
words,  and  talismanic  phrases  danced  as  thick  as  motes  in 
a  sunbeam.  "Non-Importation.  .  .  .  Gregg.  .  .  .  Too  whole 
sale.  .  .  .  Nicholson.  .  .  .  Silk,  window-glass.  .  .  .  Napoleon. 
.  .  .  Brass,  playing-cards,  books,  prints,  beer,  and  ale. 
.  .  .  Napoleon.  .  .  .  The  Essex  of  Salem,  the  Enoch  and 
Rowena.  .  .  .  Texas  —  the  seizure  of  Texas.  Two  millions 
for  the  Floridas.  .  .  .  The  Death  of  Pitt.  .  .  .  Napoleon  — 
Austerlitz.  .  .  .  'Decius'  in  the  Enquirer — that's  John 


220  LEWIS   RAND 

Randolph  of  Roanoke.  .  .  .  'Aurelius'  —  that  letter  of 
'Aurelius' 

Rand,  at  the  corner  table,  had  moved  his  chair  so  as  to 
face  the  room.  Letters  and  papers  were  spread  before  him;  he 
had  broken  the  seal  of  a  thin  blue  sheet  and  drawn  a  candle 
close  to  the  fine,  neat,  and  pointed  writing.  The  letter  inter 
ested  him,  and  he  apparently  took  no  heed  of  the  rapid  and 
disjointed  speech  around  him.  But  the  word  "Aurelius" 
brought  a  sudden,  darting  glance,  a  movement  of  the  lower 
lip,  and  a  stiffening  of  the  shoulders.  Gaudylock,  who  sat  and 
smoked,  supremely  indifferent  to  the  display  of  newspapers, 
marked  the  flicker  of  emotion.  "He  sees  a  snake  in  the 
grass,"  he  thought  lazily.  "Who's  'Aurelius'?" 

Rand  turned  the  thin  blue  page,  snuffed  the  candle,  and 
fell  again  to  his  reading.  Right  and  left  the  talk  continued. 
"Glass,  tin.  .  .  .  The  Albemarle  Resolutions.  Great  speech. 
He's  over  there.  ...  All  this  talk  about  Aaron  Burr.  .  .  . 
Austerlitz  —  twenty  thousand  Russians.  .  .  .  Westwood  the 
coiner  got  clean  away  on  a  brig  for  Martinique.  One  vil 
lain  the  less  here,  one  the  more  in  Martinique.  Martinique ! 
that's  where  the  Empress  Josephine  comes  from — " 

"My  faith!"  said  Adam.  "It's  worse  than  the  mocking 
birds  in  June!" 

The  doors  opened  and  the  two  Carys  entered  the  coffee 
room.  Rand  lifted  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  let  them  fall 
to  the  third  sheet  of  his  letter.  Mr.  Lynch  bustled  forward. 
"Ha,  Mr.  Gary,  your  letters  are  waiting!  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary, 
—  your  servant,  sir !  —  Eli,  wine  for  Mr.  Gary  —  the  Ma 
deira.  Christopher,  more  wood  to  the  fire !  The  night  is 
falling  cold." 

"Very  cold,  Mr.  Lynch,"  said  Ludwell  Gary.  "Colonel 
Ambler  —  Mr.  Wickham,  we  meet  again ! "  —  and  his  bro 
ther,  "We  never  have  such  cold  in  Albemarle,  Mr.  Lynch! 


AT   LYNCH'S  221 

Ha,  your  fire  is  good,  and  your  wine 's  good,  and  your  com 
pany  's  good.  There's  a  table  by  the  fire,  Ludwell." 

They  moved  to  it,  exchanging  greetings,  as  they  went,  with 
half  the  room,  sat  down,  drank  each  a  glass  of  wine,  and  fell 
to  their  letters,  careless  of  the  surrounding  war  of  words.  The 
elder's  mail  was  heavy,  —  letters  from  London,  from  New 
York,  from  Philadelphia,  one  from  his  overseer  at  Green 
wood,  others  from  clients,  colleagues,  and  strangers,  —  all  the 
varied  correspondence  of  the  lawyer,  the  planter,  and  the 
man  of  the  world.  Fairfax  Gary's  letters  were  fewer  in  num 
ber,  but  one  was  gilt-edged,  curiously  folded,  and  super 
scribed  in  a  strong  and  delicate  hand.  "Miss  Dandridge 
seals  with  a  dove  and  an  olive  branch  ? "  murmured  the  elder 
brother.  " Lucky  Fair!  What's  the  frown  for?" 

"Olive  branch  ?"  quoth  the  other.  "She  should  seal  with 
a  nettle !  Listen  to  this :  'Mr.  Hunter  has  been  some  time  with 
us  at  Fontenoy.  Mr.  Carter  spent  his  Christmas  here  — 
he  dances  extremely  well.  Mr.  Page  gives  us  now  and  then 
the  pleasure  of  his  company.  He  turns  the  leaves  of  my  music 
for  me.  Mr.  Lee  and  I  are  reading  Sir  Charles  Grandison 
together.  I  see  Mr.  Nelson  at  Saint  Anne's.'  Saint  Anne! 
Saint  Griselda!  Her  letters  are  enough  to  make  a  man 
renounce  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  and  turn  Trap- 
pist- 

"I  wish  the  room  would  turn  Trappist,"  said  the  other. 
"I  am  tired  of  talk.  I  would  like  to  be  somewhere  in  the 
woods  to-night  —  quiet.  We  won't  stay  long  here.  There 
has  been  contention  enough  to-day." 

The  younger  leaned  forward.  "Lewis  Rand  is  over  there 
—  three  tables  back." 

"I  know.  I  saw  him  when  we  came  in.  Read  your  letters 
and  we  will  be  gone." 

The  minutes  passed.    Outside  Lynch's  the  western  red 


222  LEWIS   RAND 

faded,  and  the  still,  winter  night  came  quickly  on.  Within, 
fire  and  candles  burned  bright,  but  to  not  a  few  of  Mr. 
Lynch's  patrons  the  flames  danced  unsteadily.  It  was  an 
age  of  hard  drinking;  the  day  had  been  an  exciting  one,  and 
Lynch's  wine  or  punch  or  apple  toddy  but  the  last  of  many 
potations.  The  assemblage  was  assuredly  not  drunken,  but 
neither  was  it,  at  this  hour  and  after  the  emotional  wear  and 
tear  of  the  past  hours,  quite  sane  or  less  than  hectic.  Its  mood 
was  edged.  Now,  in  the  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  general 
start  for  home  and  supper,  foreign  and  federal  affairs  gave 
way  to  first-hand  matters  and  a  review  of  the  day  that  was 
closing.  It  had  been  a  field  day.  The  city  of  Richmond  was 
strongly  Federal,  the  General  Assembly  mainly  Republican. 
At  Lynch's  this  evening  were  members,  Federalist  and  Re 
publican,  of  the  two  Houses,  with  citizens,  planters,  visitors 
enough  of  either  principle.  When  the  general  talk  turned 
upon  the  Albemarle  Resolutions  and  the  morning's  proceed 
ings  in  the  House  of  Delegates,  it  was  as  though  an  invisible 
grindstone  had  put  upon  the  moment  a  finer  edge. 

Lewis  Rand,  sweeping  his  letters  and  papers  together,  had 
nodded  to  Adam  and  moved  from  his  table  to  that  of  a  pillar 
of  the  Republican  party,  with  whom  he  was  now  in  attentive 
discourse.  Apparently  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  voices  around 
him,  though  he  might  have  heard  his  own  name,  seeing  that 
wherever  the  talk  now  turned  it  came  at  last  upon  his  speech 
of  that  morning.  Presently,  "Mr.  Rand!"  called  some  one 
from  across  the  room. 

Rand  turned.   "Mr.  Harrison  ?" 

"Mr.  Rand,  there's  a  dispute  here.  Just  what  did  you 
mean  by  —  "  and  there  followed  a  quotation  from  the  morn 
ing's  speech. 

Rand  moistened  his  lips  with  wine,  turned  more  fully  in  his 
chair,  and  answered  in  a  sentence  of  such  pith  as  to  bring 


AT   LYNCH'S  223 

applause  from  those  of  his  party  who  heard.  In  a  moment 
there  was  another  query,  then  a  third ;  he  was  presently  com 
mitted  to  a  short  and  vigorous  exposition  and  defence  of  the 
point  in  question.  The  entire  room  became  attentive.  Then, 
as  he  paused,  the  strident  voice  of  a  noted  and  irascible  man 
proclaimed,  "  That 's  not  democracy  and  not  Jefferson  — 
that  doctrine,  Mr.  Rand.  Veil  her  as  you  please  in  gauze  and 
tinsel,  you've  got  conquest  by  the  hand.  You  may  not  think 
it,  but  you're  preaching  —  what's  the  word  that  'Aurelius' 
used  ?  —  '  Buonapartism.' ' 

A  Federalist  of  light  weight  who  had  arrived  at  quarrel 
someness  and  an  empty  bottle  put  in  a  sudden  oar.  "'  Buon 
apartism  '  equals  Ambition,  and  both  begin  with  an  R."  He 
looked  pointedly  at  Rand. 

"My  name  begins  with  an  R,  sir,"  said  Rand. 

"Pshaw!  so  does  mine!"  exclaimed  the  man  at  the  table 
with  him.  "Let  him  alone,  Rand.  He  does  n't  know  what  he 
is  saying." 

Rand  turned  to  the  first  speaker.  "' Buonapartism/  — 
that's  a  word  that's  as  ample  as  Charity,  but  I  hardly  think, 
sir,  that  it  covers  this  case.  It's  a  very  vague  word.  But 
writers  to  the  Gazette  are  apt  to  be  more  fluent  than  accu 


rate." 


"I  shouldn't  call  it  vague,"  cried  his  opponent.  "It's  a 
damned  good  word,  and  so  I  'd  tell  '  Aurelius,'  if  I  knew  who 
he  was." 

"It  was  n't  random  firing  in  that  letter,"  said  a  voice  from 
another  quarter  of  the  room.  "  I  don't  much  care  to  know  the 
gunner,  but  I  'd  mightily  like  to  know  who  was  aimed  at.  It 
was  a  damned  definite  thing,  that  letter.  '  Buonapartism  — 
the  will  to  mount  —  sacrifice  of  obligations  —  Genius  prosti 
tuted  to  Ambition  —  sin  against  light  —  a  man's  betrayal  of 
his  highest  self  and  his  own  belief — the  mind's  incurable 


224  LEWIS   RAND 

blindness  —  1,1  am  above  all  law  —  to  take  rich  gifts  and 
hold  the  gods  in  contempt  —  Daedalus  wings  J  "  —  The 
speaker  paused  to  fill  his  glass.  "Yes,  I  should  powerfully 
like  to  know  at  whom  'Aurelius'  was  aiming." 

"At  no  one,  I  think,"  said  Rand  coolly.  "He  made  a 
scarecrow  of  his  own,  and  then  was  frightened  by  it.  His 
chain-shot  raked  a  man  of  straw,  —  and  so  would  I  tell 
'Aurelius,'  if  I  knew  who  he  was." 

As  he  spoke,  he  moved  to  face  the  fire.  He  had  not  raised 
his  voice,  but  he  had  given  it  carrying  quality.  Gary  raised 
his  eyes,  and  laid  down  the  paper  he  had  in  his  hand.  A 
genial,  down-river  planter  and  magistrate  entered  the  con 
versation.  "Well,  I  for  one  don't  hold  with  all  this  latter-day 
hiding  behind  names  out  of  Roman  history !  Brutus  and  Cato 
and  Helvidius,  Decius  and  Aurelius,and  all  the  rest  of  them! 
Is  a  man  ashamed  of  his  English  name  ?" 

"Or  afraid?"  said  Rand,  then  bit  his  lip.  He  had  not 
meant  to  carry  things  so  far,  but  the  pent-up  anger  had  its 
way  at  last.  His  mind  was  weary  and  tense,  irritable  from  two 
sleepless  nights  and  from  futile  decisions,  and  he  inherited 
a  tendency  to  black  and  sudden  rage.  It  was  true  he  had 
walked  through  life  with  a  black  dog  at  his  heels.  Sometimes 
he  turned,  closed  with,  throttled,  and  flung  off  his  pursuer; 
sometimes  he  left  him  far  behind;  more  than  once  he  had 
seen  him  mastered  and  done  with,  dead  by  the  wayside,  had 
drawn  free  breath,  and  had  gone  on  with  a  victor's  brow. 
Then,  when  all  the  fields  were  smiling,  came  at  a  bound  the 
dark  shape,  leaped  at  the  throat,  and  hung  there.  It  was  so 
this  evening  at  Lynch's.  He  strove  with  his  passion,  but  he 
was  aware  of  a  wish  to  strive  no  longer,  to  let  the  black  dog 
have  his  way. 

There  was  a  laugh  for  the  speaker  before  him.  "You  see, 
sir,"  cried  a  noted  lawyer,  "Brutus  and  Cato,  Helvidius, 


AT   LYNCH'S  225 

Decius,  and  Aurelius,  and  all  the  noble  Romans  died  before 
duelling  came  in  !  'Sir,  the  editor  of  the  —  ahem  !  —  news 
paper,  I  take  exception  to  this  statement  in  your  pages.' 
'  Sir,  I  refer  you  to  Junius  Brutus.  Answer,  Roman ! '  Never  a 
sound  from  Limbo! — 'Sir,  Decius  has  grossly  misrepresented. 
Where  shall  I  send  my  challenge?'  'To  Hades,  no  less! 
Not  the  least  use  in  knocking  up  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke.' 
— -  'Sir,  I  am  at  odds  with  Aurelius.  Pray  favour  me  with  the 
gentleman's  address.'  'Sir,  he  left  no  name.  You  see,  he 
lived  so  long  ago ! ' 3 

Amid  the  laugh  that  followed,  Gary  turned  a  smiling  face 
upon  the  speaker.  "/  will  answer,  Mr.  Wickham,  for  Aure 
lius.  Do  you  really  want  to  challenge  me?"  He  slightly 
changed  his  position  so  as  to  confront  Rand's  table.  "In  this 
instance,  Mr.  Rand,  I  am  certain  there  was  no  fear." 

His  speech,  heard  of  all,  wrought  in  various  ways. 
Mocket  the  day  before  had  not  exaggerated  the  general  in 
terest  in  the  letter  signed  "Aurelius."  Now  at  Lynch's  there 
arose  a  small  tumult  of  surprise,  acclaim,  enthusiasm,  and 
dissent.  His  friends  broke  into  triumph,  his  political  enemies 
—  he  had  few  others  —  strove  for  a  deeper  frown  and  a 
growling  note.  The  only  indifferent  in  Lynch's  was  Adam 
Gaudylock,  who  smoked  tranquilly  on,  not  having  read  the 
letter  in  question  nor  being  concerned  with  Roman  history. 
Lewis  Rand  sat  in  silence  with  compressed  lips,  bodily  there 
in  the  lit  coffee  room,  but  the  inner  man  far  away  on  the 
mind's  dark  plains,  struggling  with  the  fiend  that  dogged  him. 
Fairfax  Gary's  cheek  glowed  and  his  eyes  shone.  He  looked 
at  his  brother,  then  poured  a  glass  of  wine  and  raised  it  to 
his  lips.  "Wait,  Fairfax!  We'll  all  drink  with  you!"  cried 
a  neighbour.  "Gentlemen  and  Federalists,  glasses!  —  Lud- 
well  Gary,  and  may  he  live  to  hear  his  children's  children 
read  'Aurelius'!"  ' 


226  LEWIS   RAND 

The  Federalists  drank  the  toast  with  acclaim,  while  the 
Republicans  with  equal  ostentation  did  no  such  thing.  Mr. 
Pincornet  in  his  corner, hearing  the  words  "Gentlemen"  and 
"Gary,"  drank  with  gusto  his  very  thin  wine,  and  Adam 
drank  because  he  had  always  liked  the  Carys  and  certainly 
had  no  grudge  against  "Aurelius,"  whoever  he  might  be. 

In  the  first  lull  of  sound  the  man  at  the  table  with  Lewis 
Rand  spoke  in  a  loud,  harsh,  but  agreeable  voice.  "Well, 
Mr.  Gary,  the  staunchest  of  Republicans,  though  he  can't 
drink  that  toast,  need  not  deny  praise  to  a  masterpiece  of 
words.  Words,  sir,  not  facts.  What  I  want  to  know  is  at 
whom  —  not  at  what,  at  whom  —  you  were  firing  ?  I  thought 
once  that  Aaron  Burr  was  your  mark.  But  he's  too  light 
metal  —  a  mere  buccaneer !  That  broadside  of  yours  would 
predicate  a  general  foe  —  and  I  'm  damned  if  I  would  n't 
like  to  know  his  name!" 

"We  would  all  like  to  know  his  name,"  said  Rand.  "And 
when  we  know  it,  I  for  one  would  like  to  hear  Mr.  Gary's 
proofs  of  faithlessness  to  obligations." 

In  the  hush  of  expectation  which  fell  upon  the  room  the 
eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  In  Rand's  there  was  something  cold 
and  gleaming,  something  that  was  not  his  father's  nor  his 
grandfather's,  but  his  own,  deadly  but  markedly  courageous. 
Gary's  look  was  more  masked,  grave,  and  collected,  with  the 
merest  quiver  of  the  upper  lip.  In  the  mind  of  each  the  cur 
tain  strangely  lifted,  not  upon  Richmond  or  Fontenoy  or  the 
Court  House  at  Charlottesville,  but  upon  a  long  past  day  and 
the  Albemarle  woods  and  two  boys  gathering  nuts  together. 
This  lasted  but  an  instant,  then  Gary  spoke.  "In  that  letter, 
Judge  Roane,  *  Aurelius'  had  no  thought  of  Aaron  Burr.  I 
doubt  if  in  writing  he  meant  to  give  to  any  image  recogniz 
able  face  and  form.  I  think  that,  very  largely,  he  believed 
himself  but  personifying  the  powers  of  evil  and  the  tendencies 


AT   LYNCH'S  227 

thereto  inherent  in  the  Democrat-Republican  as  in  all  human 
doctrine.  If  he  builded  better  than  he  knew,  if  he  held  the 
mirror  up,  if,  in  short,  there 's  any  whom  the  cap  fits  "  —  He 
paused  a  moment,  then  said  sternly,  "  Let  the  wearer,  who 
ever  he  may  be,  look  to  his  steps ! "  and  turned  to  face  Rand. 
"Seeing  there  is  no  name  to  divulge,  there  are  of  course  no 
proofs  of  faithlessness."  He  rose.  "It  is  growing  late,  gen 
tlemen,  and  I,  for  one,  am  committed  to  Mrs.  Ambler's  party. 
Who  goes  towards  the  Eagle  ? " 

There  was  a  movement  throughout  the  coffee  room.  It  was 
full  dark,  home  beckoned,  and  a  number  besides  Gary  were 
pledged  to  the  evening's  entertainment.  From  every  table 
men  were  rising,  gathering  up  their  papers,  when  Rand's 
voice,  harsh,  raised,  and  thick  with  passion,  jarred  the  room. 
"I  hold,  Mr.  Gary,  that  not  even  to  please  his  fine  imagina 
tion  is  a  gentleman  justified  in  publicly  weaving  caps  of  so 
particular  a  description ! " 

Gary  turned  sharply.  "Not  even  when  he  weaves  it  for  a 
man  of  straw  ?  —  your  own  expression,  Mr.  Rand." 

"Even  men  of  straw,"  answered  the  other  thickly,  "find 
sometimes  a  defender.  By  God,  I  '11  not  endure  it ! " 

"All  this, "  said  Gary  scornfully,  —  "all  this  for  the  usual, 
the  familiar,  the  expected  Federalist  criticism  of  Republican 
precept  and  practice!  What,  specifically,  is  it,  Mr.  Rand, 
that  you  '11  not  endure  ? " 

"I'll  endure,"  replied  Rand,  in  a  strained,  monotonous, 
and  menacing  voice,  "no  taunt  from  you." 

As  he  spoke,  he  threw  himself  forward.  "Have  a  care,  sir!" 
cried  Gary,  and  flung  out  his  arm.  He  had  seen,  and  the  men 
around  had  seen,  the  intention  of  the  blow.  It  was  not  struck. 
Amid  the  commotion  that  arose,  Rand  suddenly,  and  with  an 
effort  so  violent  and  so  directed  that  it  had  scarcely  been  in  the 
scope  of  any  other  there,  checked  himself  upon  the  precipice's 


228  LEWIS   RAND 

verge,  stood  rigid,  and  strove  with  white  lips  for  self-com 
mand.  His  inmost,  his  highest  man  had  no  desire  to  feel  or 
to  exhibit  ungoverned  rage,  but  there  was  a  legion  against 
him  —  and  the  black  and  furious  dog.  The  coffee  house 
was  in  a  ferment.  "Gentlemen  —  gentlemen! — What's  the 
quarrel,  Rand  ?  —  Ludwell  Gary,  I  'm  at  your  service !  — 
Bills  and  bows !  bills  and  bows !  —  or  is  it  coffee  and  pistols  ? " 
Fairfax  Gary  had  sprung  to  his  brother's  side.  Adam  Gaudy- 
lock,  annihilating  in  some  mysterious  fashion  the  distance 
between  the  corner  table  and  the  group  in  the  light  of  the  fire, 
was  visible  over  Rand's  shoulder.  Mr.  Pincornet,  chin  in  air 
and  with  his  hand  where  once  a  sword  had  been,  tiptoed  upon 
the  fringe  of  the  crowd.  The  clamour  went  on.  "  Is  it  a  chal 
lenge  ?  —  wTas  a  blow  struck  ?  —  Mr.  Gary,  command  me !  — 
Mr.  Rand—" 

Gary  and  Rand,  standing  opposed,  three  feet  of  bare  floor 
between  them,  looked  fixedly  at  each  other.  Both  were  pale, 
both  breathing  heavily,  but  for  both  the  unthinking  moment 
had  passed.  Reflection  had  come  and  was  standing  there 
between  them.  To  Rand  it  wore  more  faces  than  one,  but  to 
Gary  it  was  steadily  a  form  in  white  with  amethysts  about  the 
neck.  There  had  been  —  it  was  well,  it  was  best  —  no  blow 
struck,  no  lie  given.  Gary  drew  a  long  breath,  shook  himself 
slightly  like  a  swimmer  who  has  breasted  a  formidable  wave, 
and  broke  into  a  laugh.  "No  affront  and  no  challenge,  gen 
tlemen!  That  is  so,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Rand  ?" 

If  there  was  an  instant's  sombre  hesitation,  it  was  no  more. 
"Yes,  that  is  so,"  said  Rand.  "After  all,  men  should  be  more 
stable.  There  is  no  quarrel,  gentlemen." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously  to  Gary,  who  returned  the  salute. 
Each  moved  from  where  he  had  stood,  and  the  tide  at 
Lynch's  came  between  them.  There  was  some  questioning, 
some  excited  speech,  some  natural  disappointment  at  matters 


AT   LYNCH'S  229 

going  no  further.  It  was  not  clearly  understood  what  offence 
had  been  given  or  what  taken,  but  many  felt  aggrieved  by  the 
check  on  the  threshold  of  a  likely  affair.  However,  it  was, 
they  could  concede,  the  business  of  the  two  principals,  each 
of  whom  could  afford  to  ignore  any  seeming  reflection  upon 
his  unreadiness  to  pick  up  the  glove  —  if  a  glove  had  been 
thrown.  As  the  assemblage  broke  up  and  flowed  homeward, 
the  most  pertinent  comment,  perhaps,  was  that  of  the  down 
river  planter:  "If  't  was  just  a  breeze,  and  all  over,  why 
did  n't  they  shake  hands  ?  Gad!  when  I  was  young  and  we 
fell  out  and  made  up  over  the  wine,  we  went  roaring  home 
arm  over  shoulder!  Your  manners  are  too  cold.  A  bow  is 
nothing  —  one  can  bow  to  a  villain !  Men  of  honour,  when 
the  quarrel's  over,  should  shake  hands!" 

"Precisely,"  said  his  companion,  who  chanced  to  be  Mr. 
Wickham.  "They  are  men  of  honour;  they  did  n't  shake 
hands.  Ergo  the  quarrel 's  not  over !  —  Here  we  are  at  the 
Eagle." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

FAIRFAX    AND    UNITY 

BAH ! "  exclaimed  Major  Churchill.  "  Long  ago  Hamil 
ton  said  the  last  word  on  the  subject.  Aaron  Burr's 
sole  political  principle  is  to  mount.  The  Gazette  says 
he  has  started  West  —  gone,  I'll  swear,  to  light  the  fuse." 

"Then  I  hope  the  mine  will  blow  up  under  him,"  said 
Fairfax  Cary.  "Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  if  Miss  Dandridge  is  at 
home?" 

The  Major  looked  over  the  top  of  his  Gazette.  "Miss 
Dandridge  is  sitting  beneath  the  catalpa  tree."  The  other 
made  a  movement  towards  the  door.  "Mr.  Page  is  with  her. 
He  is  reading  aloud  —  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  or  some  such  im 
passioned  stuff.  Don't  apologize!  I  have  no  objection  to 
expletives." 

The  younger  Cary  laid  down  his  hat,  took  a  chair  with 
great  deliberation,  and  flecked  his  boot  with  his  riding-whip. 
"The  catalpa  shall  be  sacred  forme.  Eloisa  to  Abelard!  Is 
it  a  long  poem,  sir  ? " 

"It  is  longer  than  its  author  was.    Sentimental  rubbish!" 

Major  Edward  folded  the  Gazette  with  his  one  hand, 
laid  it  on  the  library  table,  and  leaned  back  in  his  leather 
chair.  "  It  is  not  my  opinion  that  Unity  cares  for  Mr.  Page. 
She  cares  for  what  many  men  and  an  occasional  woman 
have  cared  for  —  liberty." 

"I  would  give  her  liberty." 

"She  may  possibly  prefer  it,"  said  the  Major  dryly,  "first 
hand." 

The  young  man  laughed  ruefully.  "  So  little  liberty  as  she 


FAIRFAX   AND   UNITY  231 

has  left  me !  I  am  bound  hand  and  foot  to  her  chariot  wheels. 
There 's  nothing  I  would  n't  do  for  her,  short  of  hearing 
Page  read  aloud." 

"You'll  win  in  the  end,  I  think.  And  I  hope  you  may. 
Unity  Dandridge  is  wilful,  but  she  is  a  fine  woman." 

"The  finest  in  the  world  —  the  most  beautiful  —  the  most 
sparkling  —  the  most  loyal  — " 

"You'll  not  find  her  lacking  in  spirit.  She  will  speak  her 
mind,  will  Miss  Dandridge !  The  Carys,  fortunately,  have  a 
certain  fine  obstinacy  of  their  own.  It  is  a  saving  grace." 

The  other  laughed.  "I  never  heard  that  the  Churchills 
lacked  it,  sir.  Anyhow,  I  mean  to  marry  Miss  Dandridge. 
I  've  told  her  and  the  world  my  intention,  and  they  may  count 
upon  my  carrying  it  out.  If  she  only  knew  how  lonely  it  is 
at  Greenwood  !  Breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  —  Ludwell 
at  the  head  of  the  table  and  I  at  the  foot,  and  a  company  of 
ghosts  in  between  — " 

"i^udwell  may  yet  marry." 

Fairfax  Gary  shook  his  head.  "No.  He'll  never  marry. 
If  the  Carys  are  obstinate,  sir,  they  are  also  constant." 

Major  Churchill  rose,  turned  to  the  bookshelves,  and  drew 
forth  a  volume.  "  Is  he  not  over  that  ? "  he  asked  harshly. 

"No,  he  is  not.  He'll  never  be  over  it.  And  they  say 
matches  are  made  in  heaven ! " 

"  Bah !  They  are  made  on  earth,  and  cracked  hearts  can  be 
mended  like  any  other  cracked  ware.  'A  little  crudded  milk, 
fantastical  pufF-paste,'  with  a  woman's  name  —  and  it  has 
power  to  turn  the  sunshine  black !  Let  him  play  the  man  and 
put  her  out  of  mind ! " 

"He  does  play  the  man,"  answered  the  other,  with  spirit. 
"He  neither  sulks  nor  shirks.  It  remains  that  there  was  but 
one  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  and  that  she  is  at  Roselands 
with  Lewis  Rand." 


232  LEWIS   RAND 

The  Major's  book  fell  with  a  crash  to  the  floor.  He  stooped 
quickly  and  recovered  it  before  the  younger  man  could  give 
him  service.  "I  shall  run  Mustapha  on  the  sixteenth  at 
Staunton  against  Carter's  York,"  he  said,  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"  Have  you  seen  that  Barbary  mare  Dick  has  gotten  over  from 
England?" 

"No,"  answered  the  young  man.  "I'll  take  a  look  at  the 
stables  before  I  go.  What  is  your  book,  sir  ? " 

"It  is"  —  said  the  Major.  "I  'm  damned  if  I  know  what 
it  is!"  and  he  looked  at  the  volume  in  his  hand.  "Paul  and 
Virginia  —  faugh ! "  He  threw  the  book  down  and  stalked 
to  the  window.  Fairfax  Gary  sat  in  silence,  one  booted  knee 
over  the  other,  an  arm  upon  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  the 
riding-whip  depending  from  his  hand.  The  Major  turned. 
"They  have  laid  down  Pope,  and  Mr.  Page  is  making  his 
adieux !  Humph !  I  can  remember  a  day  when  the  poem  was 
considered  vastly  moving.  I  would  advise  you  to  strike  while 
the  iron  is  hot." 

"Sometimes  I  think  it  will  take  an  earthquake  to  move  her 
toward  me,"  said  the  other.  "I'll  give  Page  three  minutes 
in  which  to  clear  out,  and  then  I  '11  try  again.  It  would  amuse 
you,  sir,  to  know  how  many  times  I  have  tried.  If  to  have  an 
object  in  life  is  praiseworthy,  I  am  much  to  be  lauded ! " 

"You  have  always  evinced  a  fine  determination,"  admitted 
the  Major.  "Well,  life  must  have  an  object,  fair  or  foul. 
With  it,  cark  and  care;  without  it,  ditchwater !  This  way  dis 
appointment;  that,  fungi  on  a  log.  Vanity  in  either  direction, 
but  srtnaff  of  honour  must  prefer  the  rack  to  the  stocks." 

Fairfax  Gary  looked  at  his  watch.  "Page's  time  is  up. 
I  '11  go  pursue  my  cjbject,  sir." 

The  pursuit  took\him  over  the  greensward  to  the  bench 
built  around  the  great  catalpa.  The  heat  of  the  day  was 
broken  am  the  evening  shadows  lay  upon  the  grass.  Mr. 

" 


FAIRFAX   AND   UNITY  233 

Page  was  gone.  Unity  sat  beneath  the  catalpa,  elbow  on  knee 
and  chin  in  hand,  studying  a  dandelion  at  her  feet.  The 
poetical  works  of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope  lay  at  a  distance,  face 
down.  The  sky  between  the  broad  catalpa  leaves  was  very 
blue,  and  a  long  ray  of  sunshine  sifted  through  to  gild  the 
tendrils  of  Miss  Dandridge's  hair  and  to  slide  in  brightness 
down  her  flowery  gown.  She  glanced  at  the  young  man 
striding  towards  her  from  the  house,  then  again  admired  the 
dandelion. 

Fairfax  Gary  stooped,  picked  up  Pope,  and  regarded  the 
open  pages  with  disfavour.  "And  at  home  he  probably  reads 
only  The  Complete  Farrier  —  on  Sundays  maybe  the  Gen 
tleman's  Magazine  or  The  Book  of  Dreams ! " 

"Who?"  asked  Unity. 

"My  rival.  If  he  read  Greek,  he  would  yet  be  my  rival  and 
an  ignorant  fellow." 

"He  does  read  Greek,"  said  Miss  Dandridge  severely, 
"and  'ignorant  fellow'  is  the  last  thing  that  could  be  applied 
to  him.  Did  you  ride  over  from  Greenwood  to  be  scornful  ? " 

"I  rode  over  to  be  as  meek  as  Moses  and  as  patient  as 
Job—" 

"They  were  never  my  favourites  in  Scripture." 

"Nor  mine."  He  closed  the  book,  swung  his  arm,  and 
Pope  crashed  into  a  lilac  bush.  "There,"  he  said,  "goes 
meekness,  patience,  and  the  eighteenth  century.  This  is  the 
nineteenth.  Time  is  no  endless  draught,  no  bottomless  cup. 
Waste  of  life  is  the  cankered  rose.  You  know  that  you  treat 
me  badly." 

"Do  I?  — I  did  not  mean  to." 

"You  do.  Now  you've  got  to  say  to  me,  'I  love  you  and 
I'll  marry  you,'  or  'I  love  you  not  and  I'm  going  to  marry 
some  one  else.'  If  it's  the  first,  I  '11  be  the  happiest  man  on 
earth;  if  the  second,  I  '11  go  far  away  and  try  to  forget." 


234  LEWIS   RAND 

"Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

"You  have  kept  me  standing  in  spirit  these  three  years 
Standing !  —  kneeling !  Now,  will  you  or  won't  you  ? " 

"I  do  not  care  in  the  least  for  Mr.  Page.  He  is  merely  an 
agreeable  acquaintance." 

"And  Mr.  Dabney?" 

"The  same.    He  entertains  me — " 

"Mr.  Lee  — Mr.  Minor  —  Ned  Hunter  —  " 

"What  applies  to  one  applies  to  all." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  All  merely  agreeable  acquaintances. 
And  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary  ?  He  is,  perhaps,  in  the  same  cate- 
gory?" 

"  Perhaps.  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  butterfly !  —  there,  on  that 
trumpet  flower !  I  think  it  is  a  Tawny  Emperor." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Excuse  me  a  moment  while 
I  frighten  him  away."  He  gravely  shook  the  trumpet  vine,  and 
the  light  splendour  spread  its  wings  and  sailed  to  a  securer 
realm.  "Now  that  the  Emperor  is  gone  perhaps  you  will  pay 
attention.  Am  /  merely  an  agreeable  acquaintance?" 

"Oh  —  agreeable!"  murmured  Miss  Dandridge. 

"I  am  not  trying  to  be  agreeable.  I  am  looking  for  the 
truth.  Am  I,  then,  merely  an  acquaintance?" 

Unity  sighed.    "Why  not  say  'friend7  ?" 

"Friend'  is  good  as  far  as  it  goes.  It  does  not  go  far 
enough." 

"Yes,  it  does,"  said  Miss  Dandridge.  "  It  goes  further  than 
all  your  less  sober  travellers. 

"  Love  me  little,  love  me  long. 

You  want  such  violent  things ! " 

"I  want  you.   Is  it,  then,  only  a  poor,  pale  friendship  ?" 
"Why  call  it  poor  and  pale?    Friendship  can    be  rosy- 
cheeked  as  well  as  —  as  other  things.   Look  how  the  grass  is 
burned  —  and  all  the  locusts  are  singing  of  the  heat ! " 


FAIRFAX   AND   UNITY  235 

"It  is  beneath  you  to  trifle  so.  If  this  is  all,  it  is  poor  and 
pale,  and  the  sooner  it  dies,  the  better !  Unity,  I  'm  waiting 
for  your  coup  de  grace." 

"I'm  tired,"  said  Unity.   "You  hurt  me,  and  I'm  tired." 

"  I  never  heard  you  say  that  before.  Look  at  me !  the  tears 
are  in  your  eyes." 

"Everybody  cries  over  Eloi'sa  to  Abelard. 

"  O  death  all-eloquent !  you  only  prove 
What  dust  we  dote  on,  when  't  is  man  we  love ! 

Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"Home  first,  then  —  I  don't  know  where.    Good-bye." 

"Don't  go."   ' 

"I  'm  afraid  the  book  in  the  lilac  bush  is  spoiled.  If  you'll 
allow  me,  I  '11  send  you  another  copy." 

"Please  don't  go." 

"The  tears  are  on  your  cheeks.  It  is  a  moving  poem. 
"  Oh,  may  we  never  love  as  those  have  loved! 

This  is  the  third  and  last  good-bye.    Good-bye." 

The  younger  Gary  turned  and  resolutely  walked  away. 
Miss  Dandridge  rose  and  followed  him.  He  did  not  turn  his 
head,  and  the  thick  turf  could  not  echo  her  light  footfall.  He 
walked  firmly,  with  the  port  of  a  man  who  hears  a  distant 
drum  beat  to  action.  Miss  Dandridge  admired  the  attitude 
through  her  tears.  He  walked  rapidly  and  the  sweep  of  green 
sward  between  them  widened.  It  was  no  great  distance  to  the 
driveway  and  the  white  pillars  of  the  house.  Uncle  Dick  and 
Uncle  Edward,  Deb,  the  servants,  any  one,  might  be  looking 
out  of  the  windows.  For  one  moment  Unity  stopped  short  as 
Atalanta  when  she  saw  the  golden  apple,  then  she  began  to 
run.  She  touched  her  goal  within  ten  feet  of  the  house, 
and  he  stood  still  and  looked  at  the  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"Oh!  "she  panted.  "Don't  go!  I  — I  — I—" 
" ?" 


236  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  love  you.    Oh!" 

If  any  window  saw,  it  was  discreet  and  never  told,  re 
membering  perhaps  a  youth  of  its  own.  The  embrace  was 
not  prolonged  beyond  a  minute.  Unity,  red  and  beautiful, 
released  herself,  looked  about  her  like  a  startled  dryad,  and 
made  again  for  the  catalpa.  Fairfax  Gary  followed,  and  they 
took  that  portion  of  the  circular  bench  which  had  between  it 
and  the  house  the  giant  bole  of  the  tree.  Before  them  dipped 
the  shady  hollow,  filled  with  the  rustling  of  leaves,  cool  and 
retired  as  its  parent  forest. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes;  it's  true,  gospel  true ! "  cried  Unity.  "But 
I  '11  not  be  married  for  a  long,  long  year ! " 

"A  year!  You're  going  to  be  cruel  again." 

"No,  no,  I'm  not  cruel!  I  never  was.  'T  was  all  your 
imagination.  When  I  marry,  I  '11  be  married  hard  and  fast, 
hand  and  foot,  wind  and  rain,  sleet  and  snow,  June  and 
December,  forever  and  a  day,  world  without  end,  amen! 
holidays  and  all !  I  may  live  forever,  and  I  '11  be  married  all 
that  time.  I  want  just  one  little  year  to  say  good-bye  to  Unity 
Dandridge  in." 

"We'll  take  her  to  Greenwood  with  us." 

"No,  no.  We'll  bury  her  in  the  flower  garden  the  day 
before.  Just  one  year  —  please ! " 

"Oh,  Unity,  when  you  say  'please'!" 

"This  is  August.  I  '11  marry  you  twelve  little  months  from 
now  —  please ! " 

"A  thousand  things  may  happen — " 

"They  won't  —  they  won't.  Don't  you  love  Unity  Dan 
dridge  ?  Then  let  her  live  a  little  longer ! " 

"Kiss  me—" 

Unity  did  as  she  was  bid.  The  sunlight  left  the  hollow,  but 
stayed  bright  upon  the  hills  beyond.  It  was  August,  but  in 
a  treetop  somewhere  a  solitary  bird  was  singing.  Nearer  the 


FAIRFAX   AND   UNITY  237 

earth  the  crickets  and  cicadas  began  their  evening  concert,  a 
shrill  drumming  in  the  warm,  still  air.  There  was  a  scent  of 
dry  grass,  a  feeling  of  summer  at  its  full.  Dewy  freshness,  ten 
der  green,  mist  of  bloom,  and  a  thousand  songs  were  faraway, 
and  yet  upon  the  bench  beneath  the  catalpa  there  was  spring. 

"The  sun  is  setting,"  said  Unity  at  last.  "Let  us  go  speak 
to  Uncle  Dick." 

"He'll  be  glad,  I  think.  May  I  stay  to  supper?  I  want 
to  hear  Unity  Dandridge  sing  afterwards." 

"Yes,  Uncle  Dick  will  be  glad  —  he  and  Uncle  Edward 
will  be  very  glad.  I  don't  believe  that  Unity  Dandridge  will 
want  to  sing  to-night.  She  '11  be  thinking  of  that  grave  in  the 
flower  garden." 

"No !  She  shall  think  of  the  sunrise  at  Greenwood  —  sun 
rise  and  splendid  roses  and  the  million  harps  of  heaven 
playing!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Unity,  "the  sunrise  at  Greenwood  should 
have  been  for  your  brother!" 

"Yes,  for  him  and  your  cousin.  Blind  fate!  He  is  worth 
a  thousand  of  me,  and  he  sits  lonely  there  in  his  house  —  and 
I  am  here!" 

"There's  no  pure  joy." 

"When  I  tell  him  to-night,  he  will  feel  but  pure  joy  for  me 
—  not  one  thought  of  self,  of  the  sunrise  he  might  have 
watched  at  Greenwood !  Oh,  Justice  and  her  balances ! 
There  goes  the  last  rim  of  the  sun." 

"  I  '11  sing  to  you  what  you  will  —  and  you  may  stay  as 
long  as  you  like  —  and  I  '11  love  you  all  my  life.  Oh !  Now 
let's  go  find  Uncle  Dick." 

Uncle  Dick  was  easily  found,  being  in  fact  upon  the  porch 
in  his  especial  chair,  with  the  dogs  around  him,  and  in  his 
hand  a  silver  goblet  of  mint  and  apple  brandy.  "Hey! 
What,  what!"  he  cried,  "has  the  jade  said  Yes  at  last? 


238  LEWIS   RAND 

Where's  Edward?  Edward,  Edward!  Kiss  me,  you  minx! 
Fair,  I  wish  that  my  dear  friend,  your  father,  were  alive. 
Well,  well,  patience  does  it,  and  the  Lord  knows,  Unity,  he 's 
been  patient !  Oh,  you  black-eyed  piece,  you  need  a  bit  and 
bridle!  Here's  Edward!  Edward,  the  shrew's  tamed  at 
last !  Such  a  wedding  as  Fontenoy  will  have ! " 

Four  hours  later,  when  supper  was  over,  and  Aunt  Nancy 
in  the  "chamber"  had  been  visited  by  the  affianced  pair,  and 
all  matters  had  been  discussed,  and  Unity  at  the  harpsichord 
had  sung  without  protest  a  number  of  very  sentimental  songs, 
and  Deb  had  gone  unwillingly  to  bed,  and  first  one  uncle  and 
then  the  other  had  thoughtfully  faded  from  the  drawing- 
room,  and  good-night,  when  it  came  to  be  said  in  the  moonlit 
porch,  took  ten  minutes  to  say,  and  the  boy  who  brought 
around  the  visitor's  horse  had  caught  with  a  grin  and  a 
"Thank  'e,  sah!"  the  whirling  silver  dollar,  and  Major 
Edward's  voice  had  sounded  from  the  hall  door  behind  Unity, 
"  Good-night,  Fair ;  bring  Ludweli  with  you  to-morrow  night," 
and  Unity  had  echoed  softly,  "Yes,  bring  Ludweli,"  and  the 
last  wave  of  the  hand  had  been  given,  Fairfax  Gary  cantered 
down  the  driveway  and  through  the  lower  gates.  Out  upon 
the  red  highway  he  put  his  horse  to  the  gallop,  and  rode 
with  his  bared  head  high  to  the  wind  and  the  stars  of  night. 

At  Greenwood  there  was  but  one  light  burning.  He  saw 
it  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  lost  it,  then  caught  it  again, 
crowning  like  a  star  the  low  hilltop.  Bending  from  the  saddle, 
he  opened  the  gate,  passed  through,  and  rode  on  beneath  the 
oaks  to  the  house  door.  The  light  shone  from  the  library. 
When  a  negro  had  taken  his  horse,  the  younger  Gary  entered 
to  find  his  brother  sitting  before  a  mass  of  books  and  papers, 
wine  on  the  table,  and  a  favourite  dog  asleep  upon  the  hearth. 
"You  are  late,"  said  the  elder,  looking  up  with  a  smile. 
"  Fontenoy,  of  course  ? " 


FAIRFAX  AND   UNITY  239 

"  Fontenoy,  of  course.     Ludwell,  I  've  won ! " 

The  elder  brother  pushed  back  his  chair,  rose,  and,  going 
to  the  younger,  put  both  hands  upon  his  shoulders.  "Fair, 
I'm  glad!  I  told  you  that  you  would.  She's  the  loveliest 
black-eyed  lady  —  and  as  for  you,  you  deserve  your  fortune ! 
Monsieur  mon  frere,  I  make  you  my  congratulations ! " 

"What  a  blaze  of  light  you've  got  in  here!  All  the  way  home 
my  horse's  hoofs  were  saying,  Unity  Gary  —  Unity  Gary." 

Ludwell  laughed.  "You're  drunk  with  joy.  The  room  is 
not  brightly  lit.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"'Twas  underneath  the  catalpa  tree.    We  quarrelled — " 

"As  usual." 

"  Page  had  been  there,  reading  aloud,  —  reading  Eloi'sa  to 
Abelard." 

"Oh!" 

"We  quarrelled.  I  said  good-bye  forever,  and  walked 
away.  She  came  after  me  over  the  grass.  Ludwell,  to  hold  the 
woman  that  you  love  in  your  arms,  close,  close — " 

"I  can  guess  'twas  bliss.    And  then?" 

"  Heaven  still  —  only  quieter.  We  went  back  to  the  bench 
under  the  catalpa." 

"  Happy  tree !  And  I  never  thought  it  a  poetic  growth  — 
the  flowers  are  so  sticky !  Now  Unity  shall  plant  one  at  Green 
wood." 

" 'Unity ' !   Is  n't  it  sweet  to  say  just  <  Unity '  ? " 

The  other  laughed  again.  "I  think  you  are  a  very  satisfac 
tory  lover !  And  when 's  the  marriage,  Fair  ? " 

"  Not  for  a  whole  year  —  she  won't  marry  me  for  a  whole 
year  to  come!" 

"Why,  that's  too  long,"  said  the  elder  kindly.  "What 
reason  ? " 

"Time  to  say  farewell.  Once  she 's  married,  she  will  never 
see  Unity  Dandridge  again ! " 


240  LEWIS   RAND 

Both  laughed,  but  there  was  much  tenderness  in  their 
laughter.  "Oh,  she's  individual!"  said  Ludwell.  "Even 
when  you  add  the  Gary,  she  '11  be  Unity  Dandridge  still.  A 
year!  Perhaps  she  may  relent." 

"I've  given  my  word  not  to  ask  her." 

"Ah!  —  well,  a  year's  not  so  long,  Fair.  She's  a  lovely 
witch  —  she  '11  charm  the  hours  away.  This  time  next  year 
how  gay  we'll  make  the  old  house!" 

The  younger  paced  the  room.  "I  can't  go  to  bed.  Mi 
chaelmas  —  Christmas  —  St.  Valentine's  -  -  Easter  —  the 
Fourth  —  then  August  again.  Twelve  months!" 

"You'll  ride  to  Fontenoy  in  the  morning." 

"That's  true  —  and  you'll  ride  with  me.  The  last  thing 
that  she  said  was  that  I  was  to  bring  you.  Ludwell,  I  want 
to  say  that  not  even  Unity,  though  I  love  her  so  much,  could 
ever  make  me  love  you  an  iota  the  less.  You  know  that,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  know,  Fair,"  said  the  other  from  the  great  chair. 
"We  are  friends  as  well  as  brothers.  I'm  as  glad  for  your 
happiness  as  if  it  were  my  own,  and  I  '11  ride  with  you  to 
Fontenoy  to  kiss  my  new  sister.  You  've  both  chosen  wisely, 
and  it 's  a  great  day  for  Greenwood !  Stop  that  striding  here 
and  there  like  an  ecstatic  lion !  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about 
it  again.  The  wine's  good,  and  I'll  light  more  candles. 
There!" 

"You're  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  Ludwell,"  said  the 
younger  gratefully.  "She  had  on  a  gown  with  little  flowers 
all  over  a  yellowy  ground,  and  there  was  a  curl  that  came 
down  on  her  white  neck  —  and  when  I  had  gone  away  for 
ever  and  then  felt  her  hand  upon  my  arm,  it  was  like  a  sword- 
stroke  opening  Paradise.  It  is  n't  really  late,  is  it  ?  I  could 
talk  till  dawn!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   GREEN    DOOR 

THE  coach  of  Mrs.  Jane  Selden  entered  Charlottes- 
ville  at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  did  not  turn  home 
ward  again  until  the  afternoon  stood  at  four.  The 
intermediate  hours  were  diligently  used  by  the  small  and 
withered  lady  in  plum-coloured  silk  and  straw  bonnet,  scarf 
of  striped,  apple-green  gauze,  and  turkey-feather  fan.  She 
came  to  town  but  once  in  three  months,  and  made  of  each 
visit  a  field  day.  Every  store  was  called  at,  for  buying  must 
be  done  for  herself  and  her  plantation  to  last  until  Christ 
mas-tide.  Lutestring,  calico,  chintz  and  prunella,  linsey  and 
osnaburg;  gilt-edged  paper,  sticks  of  wax,  and  fine  black 
ink;  drugs  of  sorts,  bohea,  spice,  and  china  were  bought  and 
bestowed  in  brown  paper  parcels  in  corners  of  a  vehicle 
ample  as  Cinderella's  pumpkin  coach,  while  Jamaica  sugar 
and  Java  coffee,  old  rum,  molasses,  salt  and  vinegar,  hard 
ware,  kitchen  things,  needs  of  the  quarter,  and  all  heavy 
matters  were  left  to  be  called  for  by  her  wagon  next  day. 
Shopping  over,  she  took  dinner  with  an  ancient  friend,  and 
afterwards  called  upon  the  doctor  and  the  minister.  The 
post-office  came  next  in  order,  and  then  the  blacksmith,  for 
one  of  her  four  sleepy  coach  horses  had  cast  a  shoe.  The 
fault  remedied,  she  looked  at  her  watch.  "Half-past  three. 
Stop  at  the  green  door,  Gabriel." 

Coach  and  four  made  a  wide  turn,  swung  drowsily  down 
the  main  street,  and  drew  up  before  a  one-story  brick  building 
with  a  green  door  and  a  black  lettered  sign  above,  "Lewis 
Rand,  Attorney-at-Law." 


242  LEWIS   RAND 

Mrs.  Selden,  putting  her  head  out  of  the  window,  directed 
a  small  negro,  lounging  near,  to  raise  the  knocker  below  the 
sign;  but  before  she  could  be  obeyed,  the  door  opened  and 
Rand  himself  came  quickly  down  the  steps.  "  Come,  come ! " 
he  said ;  "  I  knew  it  was  your  day  in  town,  and  I  was  wonder 
ing  if  you  were  going  by  without  a  word." 

"Don't  I  always  stop?  A  habit  is  a  habit.  We  are  all 
miserable  sinners,  and  the  world  can't  get  on  without  lawyers. 
I  want  to  ask  you  how  I  'm  to  keep  old  Tom  Carfax  off  my 
land.  There  is  no  one  with  you  ?" 

"No  one.  Mocket  has  ridden  over  to  North  Garden,  and 
I  've  just  dismissed  a  deputation  from  Milton."  As  he  spoke, 
he  opened  the  coach  door  and  assisted  his  old  friend  to  alight. 

Together  they  went  into  the  office,  which  was  a  cool  little 
place,  with  a  climbing  rose  at  the  windows,  a  bare  floor,  and 
a  dim  fragrance  of  law-books.  The  shade  was  grateful  after 
the  August  heat  and  glare.  Mrs.  Selden,  seated  in  a  capa 
cious  wooden  chair,  wielded  her  turkey  fan  and  looked  about 
her  at  the  crowded  book-shelves,  the  mass  of  papers  held 
down  on  desk  and  deal  table  by  pieces  of  iron  ore,  the  land 
maps  on  the  wall,  the  corner  ledger  and  high  stool,  the  cup 
board  whose  opened  door  disclosed  bottles  and  glasses,  and 
the  blush  roses  just  without  the  two  small  windows.  "I  like 
the  law,"  she  remarked.  " There's  a  deal  of  villainy  in  it,  no 
doubt,  but  that's  a  complaint  to  which  all  ways  of  making  a 
living  are  liable.  Even  a  shoemaker  may  be  a  villain.  How 
does  it  feel  to  be  a  great  lawyer,  Lewis  ? " 

He  smiled.    "Am  I  a  great  one?" 

"You  should  know  best,  but  it's  what  men  call  you. 
What  was  your  deputation  from  Milton  ?  About  the  gov 
ernorship  ? " 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  say?" 


THE  GREEN   DOOR  243 

"  I  thanked  them  for  the  honour  they  did  me,  and  told  them 
that  I  had  declined  the  nomination." 

"You  have  declined  it!   Why?" 

He  smiled  again.  "You  used  to  preach  contentment 
when  I  was  a  boy  and  you  heard  me  rage  out  against  my 
father.  Well  —  shall  I  not  rest  content  with  being  a  great 
lawyer  ? " 

His  old  neighbour  regarded  him  keenly  above  her  turkey- 
feather  fan.  "Lewis  Rand,  Lewis  Rand,"  she  said  at  last, 
"I  wish  I  knew  your  end." 

He  laughed.  "Do  you  mean  my  aim  in  life,  or  my  last 
hour  ? " 

"The  one,"  said  his  visitor  sharply," will  be  according  to 
the  other.  We  all  wander  through  a  wood  into  some  curi 
ous  place  at  last.  You're  the  kind  of  person  one  thinks  of 
as  coming  into  a  stranger  place  than  common.  Have  you 
heard  the  news  about  Unity  Dandridge  and  Fairfax  Gary  ? " 

"  Yes.    She  was  at  Roselands  yesterday." 

"It's  good  news.  Unity  Dandridge  needs  a  master,  and 
there's  been  no  woman  at  Greenwood  this  weary  while. 
Ludwell  Gary  will  never  marry." 

"  I  see  nothing  to  prevent  his  marrying." 

Mrs.  Selden  suspended  the  waving  of  her  fan.  "He  won't. 
Don't  dislike  him  so,  Lewis.  It  shows  in  your  forehead." 

"Is  it  so  plain  as  that?"  asked  Rand.  "Well,  I  do  dis 
like  him." 

"Enmities  are  born  with  us,  I  suppose,"  said  his  visitor 
thoughtfully.  "I  remember  a  man  whom,  without  reason, 
I  hated.  Had  I  been  a  man,  I  would  have  made  it  my  study 
to  quarrel  with  him  —  to  force  him  into  a  duel  —  to  make 
way  with  him  secretly  if  need  be !  I  would  n't  have  stopped 
at  murder.  And  it  was  all  a  mistake,  as  I  found  when  he  was 
dead  and  I  did  n't  have  to  walk  the  same  earth  with  him  any 


244  LEWIS   RAND 

more.  It's  a  curious  world,  is  the  heart  of  man.  And  so 
you  won't  be  Governor  of  Virginia  ? " 

"Not  now  —  some  later  day,  perhaps.  You  see  it  takes 
all  my  time  to  be  a  great  lawyer!" 

"You  don't  deceive  me,"  said  Mrs.  Selden,  with  great 
dryness.  "But  good  or  bad,  your  reason's  your  own,  and 
I  '11  not  ask  you  to  satisfy  an  old  woman's  curiosity.  In  my 
day  it  was  something  to  be  Governor  of  Virginia." 

She  waved  her  fan  more  vigorously  than  before,  and  the 
wind  from  it  blew  a  paper  from  the  table  beside  her.  She 
was  birdlike  in  her  movements,  and  before  Rand  could  stoop, 
she  had  caught  the  sheet.  "  Rows  and  rows  of  figures ! "  she 
exclaimed.  "Is  it  a  sum  you're  doing?" 

He  nodded,  taking  it  from  her.  "Yes;  a  giant  of  a  sum," 
he  answered  easily,  and  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket.  "Now 
what  is  old  Carfax  doing  on  your  land  ? " 

The  consultation  over,  Mrs.  Selden  left  the  office  and  was 
handed  by  Rand  into  the  pumpkin  coach.  When  he  had 
closed  the  door,  he  yet  stood  beside  the  lowered  glass,  his 
arm,  sleeved  in  fine  green  cloth,  laid  along  its  rim,  his  strong 
face,  clear  cut  and  dark,  smiling  in  upon  his  old  friend.  In 
his  mind  was  the  long  and  dreary  stretch  of  his  boyhood 
when  she  and  Adam  Gaudylock  were  the  only  beings  towards 
whom  he  had  a  friendly  thought.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
whose  minds  still  hold  communion  with  all  the  selves  that 
they  have  left  behind.  Each  in  its  day  had  been  a  throb 
bing,  vital  thing,  and  though  at  times  he  found  the  past  ob 
trusive  and  wished  to  throw  it  off,  he  could  never  utterly  do 
so.  There  was  for  him  no  Lethe.  But  if  he  tasted  the  disad 
vantages  of  so  compound  a  self,  to  others  the  array  enriched 
the  man,  making  him  vibrant  of  all  that  had  been  as  well 
as  all  that  was.  It  put  them,  too,  to  speculation  as  to  how 
great  an  army  he  would  gather  ere  the  end,  and  as  to  the  na- 


THE   GREEN   DOOR  245 

ture  of  the  last  recruit.  The  visitor  from  the  Three-Notched 
Road  looked  at  him  now  with  her  keen  old  eyes  and  laid  her 
mittened  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Be  a  good  man,  Lewis  Rand ! 
Be  a  great  one  if  you  will,  but  be  good.  That  comes  first." 

Rand  touched  her  withered  hand  with  his  lips.  "It  is 
women  who  are  good.  And  you'll  not  come  to  town  again 
until  nearly  Christmas !  I  '11  ride  over  before  then,  and  I  '11 
settle  Carfax  for  you.  You  are  going  home  now?" 

"Vinie  Mocket  is  cutting  watermelon  rind  for  me.  I'll 
stop  there  first  and  then  I  '11  go  home !  Give  my  love  to 
Jacqueline.  I  heard  at  the  Swan  that  Mr.  Jefferson  is  at 
Monticello.  Is  that  true  ? " 

"Yes,  it  is  true." 

"Humph!"  said  Mrs.  Selden.  "Then  you'll  be  at  Monti- 
cello  all  hours.  I  wish  you  'd  ask  him  for  a  seedling  of  that 
new  peach  tree." 

"I  shall  not  be  there  all  hours,"  said  Rand,  "but  I'll 
manage  to  get  the  seedling  for  you.  Good-bye,  good 
bye!" 

The  coach  and  four  lumbered  on  down  the  dusty  Main 
Street.  Mrs.  Selden,  sitting  opposite  her  brown  paper  bundles, 
waved  her  fan  and  looked  out  on  the  parching  trees  and  the 
straggling,  vine-embowered  houses.  For  half  an  hour  there 
had  been  a  thought  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  now  it 
suddenly  opened  wings.  Those  strangely  arranged  lines  of 
figures  on  that  paper  which  had  fluttered  to  the  floor,  they 
formed  no  sum  that  Lewis  Rand  was  working!  The  paper 
that  they  covered  was  not  a  stray  leaf;  it  had  been  folded  like 
a  letter.  There  was,  she  remembered,  a  piece  of  wax  upon 
it.  It  was  a  day  when  men  of  mark  often  wrote  to  each 
other  in  cipher  —  there  was  nothing  strange  in  Lewis  Rand 
so  corresponding  with  whom  he  chose.  Most  probably  it 
was  a  letter  from  the  President  —  though  that  could  hardly 


246  LEWIS   RAND 

be,  seeing  that  the  President  was  at  Monticello !  Mrs.  Selden 
looked  out  of  the  window  towards  that  low,  green  mountain 
which  was  now  rising  before  her,  and  frowningly  tried  to 
remember  some  gossamer  of  speech  which  had  been  blown 
to  her  upon  the  Three-Notched  Road.  A  quarrel  between 
Rand  and  the  President  ?  —  pshaw !  it  could  hardly  have 
been  that !  She  had  a  sudden  memory  of  Rand's  face  ere  he 
grew  to  manhood,  of  the  ardent  eyes  and  the  involuntary 
gesture  of  reverence  which  he  used  when  he  spoke  of  Mr. 
Jefferson.  He  could  not  even  speak  of  him  without  a  certain 
trembling  of  the  voice.  Any  one  could  see  the  change  in 
him  since  then,  but  it  was  hardly  to  be  believed  that  the  old 
feeling  did  not  abide  at  the  bottom  of  the  well !  Mrs.  Selden 
was  annoyed.  The  letter  might  have  been  from  Mr.  Madi 
son,  or  Mr.  Monroe,  or  Albert  Gallatin,  or  John  Randolph, 
—  though  John  Randolph,  too,  had  quarrelled  with  the  Presi 
dent,  —  or  Spencer  Roane,  or  almost  any  great  Democrat- 
Republican.  It  was  no  business  of  hers  whom  it  was  from. 
A  colour  crept  into  her  withered  cheek,  and  she  tapped  her 
black  silk  shoe  upon  the  floor  of  the  coach.  "Yes;  a  giant 
of  a  sum,"  Lewis  had  said  with  great  easiness,  and  then  had 
put  the  paper  out  of  sight.  Why  had  he  not  been  frank  ? 
He  might  have  said  to  an  old  friend,  "That's  a  cipher, — 
you  see  men  will  be  riddlers  still ! "  and  then  have  laid  away 
the  letter  as  securely  as  he  pleased !  Mrs.  Selden  hated  de 
ceit  in  anything,  great  or  small,  and  hated  to  find  flaws  in 
folk  of  whom  she  was  fond.  It  was  a  trifle  truly,  but  Lewis 
Rand  had  meant  to  give  her  a  false  impression,  and  that 
when  he  knew  as  well  as  she  how  she  detested  falsity !  As 
for  his  reasons  for  concealment,  —  let  him  keep  his  reasons ! 
She  angrily  told  herself  that  Jane  Selden  had  no  desire  to 
pry  into  a  politician's  secrets.  But  he  should  have  said  that  the 
letter  was  a  letter !  With  which  conclusion,  the  coach  having 


THE  GREEN   DOOR  247 

drawn  up  before  Vinie  Mocket's  door,  Mrs.  Selden  dismissed 
the  matter  from  her  mind,  and,  descending,  was  met  by 
Vinie  herself  at  the  gate. 

"  I  've  got  the  sweetmeats  all  cut,  Mrs.  Selden !  Grapes  and 
baskets,  and  hearts  with  arrows  through  them,  and  vases 
of  roses.  I  never  did  any  prettier.  Won't  you  come  in, 
ma'am  ?  There's  water  just  drawn  from  the  well." 

"Then  I'll  have  a  glass,  and  I'll  just  look  at  the  sweet 
meats.  It  is  late  and  I  must  be  going  home.  Vinie,  why 
don't  you  have  your  gate  mended  ?" 

"  It  always  was  broken,"  said  Vinie.  "  I  'm  always  meaning 
to  have  it  mended.  Will  you  sit  on  the  porch,  ma'am  ?  It's 
cooler  than  inside." 

The  short  path  was  lined  with  zinnias  and  with  prince's 
feather  and  the  porch  covered  with  a  shady  grapevine. 
Vinie  brought  a  pitcher  beaded  with  cool  well  water,  and 
then  a  salver  spread  with  fanciful  shapes  cut  from  the 
delicate  green  rind  of  melon  and  ready  for  preserving.  Mrs. 
Selden  drank  the  well  water  and  approved  Vinie's  skill; 
then,  "Your  brother's  gone  to  North  Garden,"  she  said 
abruptly.  "Mr.  Rand's  affairs  must  keep  him  busy." 

"Yeth,  ma'am.  Tom  comes  and  goes,"  said  Vinie  wist 
fully.  "I  wish  he'd  be  Governor  of  Virginia." 

"Who?  Tom?" 

The  girl  laughed.  "La,  no,  ma'am!  Mr.  Rand."  The 
tone  conveyed,  pleasantly  enough,  both  the  grotesque  im 
possibility  of  Mr.  Tom  Mocket  aspiring  to  such  a  post,  and 
the  eminent  suitability  of  its  lying  in  the  fortunes  of  Lewis 
Rand.  Vinie,  shy  and  pink  and  faintly  pretty  in  her  shell 
calico,  leaned  against  the  wooden  railing  beneath  the  grape 
vine,  and  appealed  to  her  visitor :  "  I  'm  always  after  Tom 
to  make  him  say  he'll  run.  Tom  can  do  a  great  deal  with 
him  —  he  always  could.  I  reckon  all  his  friends  want  him  to 


248  LEWIS   RAND 

take  the  nomination.    But  Tom  says  he  has  a  bigger  thing 
in  mind  — " 

"Who?   Tom?" 

"No,  ma'am.  Mr.  Rand.  I  forgot!  Tom  said  I  wasn't 
to  tell  that  to  any  one."  Vinie  looked  distressed.  "Won't 
you  have  another  glass  of  water,  ma'am  ?  The  drouth  this 
year  is  something  awful  —  all  the  corn  burned  up  and  the 
tobacco  failing.  Tom  will  be  back  soon  from  North  Garden. 
Yeth,  ma'am,  he  works  right  hard  for  Mr.  Rand.  The  last 
time  he  was  here  he  said  that  whether  he  ended  in  a  pal 
ace  or  a  dungeon,  he'd  remember  Tom  somewhere  towards 
the  last.  Yeth,  ma'am,  it  was  a  funny  thing  to  say,  but  he 
was  always  mighty  fond  of  Tom." 

"  Does  he  come  here  often  ? " 

"  Right  often,  —  when  there 's  work  to  be  done  at  night, 
or  when  he  wants  to  meet  some  one  at  a  quieter  place  than 
the  office.  He's  always  known  he  could  use  this  house  as  he 
pleased,"  Vinie  ended  simply.  "Tom  and  I  would  go  bare 
foot  over  fire  for  Mr.  Rand." 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  hope  he  won't  ask  you  to,"  said  her 
visitor,  with  dryness.  She  rose.  "I've  a  long  drive  before 
me,  so  I  '11  not  sit  longer.  Who 's  that  —  I  left  my  glasses 
in  the  coach  —  who 's  that  speaking  to  Gabriel  ? " 

"It's  Mr.  Gaudylock." 

"Gaudylock!  He's  not  been  in  Albemarle  for  a  year! 
When  did  he  come  back  ? " 

"  Just  the  other  day,  ma'am."  A  smile  crept  over  Vinie's 
face.  "He  brought  me  a  comb  like  the  Spanish  women  wear. 
He's  a  mighty  kind  man  —  Mr.  Gaudylock." 

The  hunter  and  Mrs.  Selden  met  at  the  broken  gate.  "I 
am  glad  to  see  you  back,  Adam,"  she  said.  "You're  a  roll 
ing  stone,  but  all  the  same  we're  fond  of  you  in  Albemarle." 

"I'm  surely  fond  of  Albemarle,  ma'am,"  answered  Adam. 


THE^ffREEN   DOOR  249 

"When  I've  rolled  long  and  far  enough  and  the  moss  is 
ready  to  gather  on  me,  I  reckon  I  '11  roll  back  to  a  hillside 
in  the  old  county.  I'm  sorry  to  see  the  drouth  so  bad. 
We've  had  a  power  of  rain  over  the  mountains." 

"Not  long  since,  I  had  a  letter  from  a  kinsman  of  mine  in 
Louisiana,  and  he  spoke  of  you.  He  said  that  up  and  down 
the  rivers  you  were  known,  that  the  villages  made  it  a  holi 
day  when  you  came  to  one,  and  that  in  the  forest  your  name 
was  like  Robin  Hood's." 

"  Robin  Hood  ?  Who  'she?"  demanded  Adam ;  then,  "  Oh, 
you  mean  the  man  in  the  poetry  book.  I  reckon  he  never 
saw  the  Mississippi  in  flood,  and  his  forest  would  have  laid 
on  the  palm  of  your  hand.  Yes,  I'm  known  out  there." 
He  gave  his  mellow  laugh.  "A  letter  of  introduction  from 
Adam  Gaudylock  is  a  pretty  good  letter,  whether  it's  to 
the  captain  of  an  ark,  or  a  Creek  sachem,  or  a  Natchitoches 
settler,  or  a  soldier  at  Fort  Stoddert.  Let  me  help  you  in, 
ma'am." 

He  handed  her  to  her  seat  with  the  sure  lightness  and  the 
woodsman's  grace  which  was  part  of  his  charm,  then  gave 
her  order  to  Gabriel.  The  coach  turned  and  went  back 
through  the  Main  Street,  and  so  on,  in  the  yellow  afternoon, 
to  the  Three-Notched  Road.  As  she  passed  again  the  green 
door,  Mrs.  Selden  looked  out,  but  the  door  was  fast  and 
the  shutters  closed  behind  the  blush  roses.  "He  must  have 
gone  home  early,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  all  the  way  along 
the  Three-Notched  Road  she  thought  of  Lewis  Rand  and 
his  career. 

Rand  had  not  gone  home,  but  was  walking  down  the 
street  towards  the  Eagle  and  the  post-office.  Presently  the 
stage  would  be  in,  and  he  carried  a  letter  the  posting  of 
which  he  did  not  care  to  entrust  to  another.  He  walked 
lightly  and  firmly,  in  the  glow  before  sunset,  and  as  he  ap- 


250  LEWIS   RAND 

preached  the  post-office  steps  he  met,  full  face,  coming  from 
the  other  end  of  the  town,  Colonel  Richard  and  Major  Ed 
ward  Churchill  and  Fairfax  Cary.  They  were  afoot,  having 
left  their  horses  at  the  Swan  while  they  waited  for  the  in 
coming  stage.  The  post-office  had  a  high  white  porch,  and 
on  this  were  gathered  a  number  of  planters  and  townsfolk, 
while  others  lounged  below  on  the  trodden  grass  beneath 
three  warped  mulberries.  All  these,  suspending  conversa 
tion,  watched  the  encounter. 

Rand  lifted  his  hat,  and  Fairfax  Cary  answered  the 
salute  with  cold  punctilio,  but  the  two  Churchills,  the  one 
with  a  red,  the  other  with  a  stony  countenance,  ignored  their 
nephew-in-law.  The  four  reached  together  the  post-office 
steps,  a  somewhat  long  and  wide  flight,  but  not  broad  enough 
to  accommodate  a  blood  feud.  Rand  made  no  attempt  at 
speech,  conciliatory  or  otherwise,  but  with  a  slight  gesture 
of  courtesy  stood  aside  for  the  two  elder  men  to  pass  and 
precede  him.  The  smile  upon  his  lip  was  half  bitter,  half 
philosophic,  and  as  they  passed,  he  regarded  them  aslant 
but  freely.  The  burly,  heated  figure  of  the  Colonel  was 
trembling  with  anger,  while  Major  Edward,  striving  for  in 
difference,  achieved  only  a  wonderful,  grey  hauteur.  They 
had  been  talking  of  the  drouth,  and  they  talked  on  while  they 
went  by  Rand,  but  their  voices  sounded  hollow  like  drums 
in  a  desert.  They  took  as  little  outward  notice  of  the  living 
man  whose  fate  entwined  with  theirs  as  if  he  had  been  a 
bleached  bone  upon  the  desert  sands.  They  went  on  and, 
upon  the  porch  above,  mingled  with  a  group  of  friends  and 
neighbours. 

Rand  put  himself  in  motion,  and  he  and  Fairfax  Cary 
mounted  step  for  step.  The  elder  man  looked  aside  at  his 
companion  of  the  moment,  slender  and  vigorous,  boyishly 
handsome  in  his  dark  riding-dress.  He  harboured  no  en- 


THE  GREEN   DOOR  251 

mity  towards  the  younger  Gary,  and  for  Unity  he  had  only 
admiration  and  affection.  His  mind  was  full  of  recesses,  and 
in  one  of  them  there  hovered  on  bright  wings  a  desire  for  the 
esteem  of  these  two.  In  his  day-dreams  he  steadily  conferred 
upon  them  benefits,  and  in  day-dreams  he  saw  their  feeling 
for  him  turn  from  prejudice  to  respect  and  fondness.  Now, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  spoke.  "/  have  no  quarrel, 
Mr.  Gary,  with  a  happiness  that  all  the  county  is  glad  of. 
Miss  Dandridge  and  my  wife  are  the  fondest  friends.  May 
I  offer  you  my  congratulations  ? " 

He  had  ceased  to  move  forward,  and  the  other  paused 
with  him.  The  younger  Gary  was  thinking,  "Now  if  I  were 
Ludwell,  I  'd  accept  this  with  simplicity,  since,  damn  him, 
in  this  the  man's  sincere."  He  looked  at  the  toe  of  his 
boot,  swallowed  hard,  and  then  faced  Rand  with  a  sudden, 
transfiguring  brightness  of  mien.  "I  thank  you,  Mr.  Rand. 
Miss  Dandridge  is  an  angel,  and  I  'm  the  happiest  of  men. 
Will  you  tell  Mrs.  Rand  so,  with  my  best  regards  ? "  He  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  then  went  on :  "  No  sign  of  rain  !  This  weather 
is  calamitous!  I  hope  that  Roselands  has  not  suffered  as 
Greenwood  has  done  ? " 

"But  it  has,"  said  Rand,  with  a  smile.  "The  corn  is  all 
burned,  and  the  entire  state  will  make  but  little  tobacco 
this  year.  Miss  Dandridge  is  better  than  an  angel;  she's 
a  very  noble  woman  —  I  wish  you  both  long  life  and  happi 
ness!" 

They  said  no  more,  but  mounted  the  remaining  steps  to 
the  level  above.  Fairfax  Gary  joined  the  two  Churchills 
and  their  friends,  while  Rand,  after  a  just  perceptible  hesita 
tion,  entered  the  small  room  where  the  postmaster  was  filling, 
with  great  leisureliness,  the  leather  mail-bag.  Besides  him 
self  there  was  no  other  there ;  even  the  window  gave  not  upon 
the  porch,  but  on  a  quiet,  tangled  garden.  He  took  the  let- 


252  LEWIS   RAND 

ter  from  his  breast  pocket  and  stood  looking  at  it.  The  post 
master,  after  the  first  word  of  greeting,  went  on  with  his  work, 
whistling  softly  as  he  handled  the  stiffly  folded,  wax-splashed 
missives  of  the  time.  The  wind  was  in  the  west,  and  the  fit 
ful  air  came  in  from  the  withered  garden  and  breathed  upon 
Rand's  forehead.  He  stood  for  perhaps  five  minutes  looking 
at  the  letter,  then  with  a  curious  and  characteristic  gesture 
of  decision  he  walked  to  the  high  counter  and  with  his  own 
hand  dropped  it  into  the  mail-bag,  then  waited  to  see  it  cov 
ered  by  the  drift  from  the  postmaster's  fingers.  "Don't  the 
world  move,  sir  ? "  said  the  latter  worthy.  "  It  has  n't  been  so 
long  since  there  was  n't  any  mail  for  the  West  anyhow,  and 
now  look  at  this  bag !  Kentucky,  and  this  new  Tennessee, 
and  Mississippi,  and  Louisiana,  and  the  Lord  knows  what 
besides !  Letters  coming  thick  and  fast  to  Mr.  Jefferson,  and 
letters  going  out  from  every  one  who  has  a  dollar  or  an  acre 
or  a  son  or  brother  in  those  God-forsaken  parts  where  Adam 
Gaudylock  says  they  don't  speak  English  and  you  walk 
uphill  to  the  river !  I  like  things  snug,  Mr.  Rand,  and  this 
country's  too  big  and  this  mail's  too  heavy.  You  have 
correspondents  out  there  yourself,  sir." 

"Yes,"  answered  Rand,  with  indifference.  "As  you  say, 
Mr.  Smock,  all  the  world  writes  letters  nowadays.  Certainly 
it  is  natural  that  from  all  over  the  West  men  should  write  to 
Mr.  Jefferson." 

"  Natural  or  not,  they  do  it,"  quoth  Mr.  Smock  doggedly. 
"I  thought  I  heard  the  stage  horn  ?" 

Rand  looked  at  his  watch.  "Not  yet.  It  lacks  some  min 
utes  of  its  time,"  he  said,  and,  leaning  on  the  counter,  waited 
until  he  saw  the  mail-bag  filled  and  securely  fastened. 
Lounging  there,  he  took  occasion  to  ask  after  the  health  of 
Mr.  Smock's  wife,  and  to  commiserate  the  burnt  garden 
without  the  window.  If  the  expression  of  interest  was  cal- 


THE  GREEN   DOOR  253 

culated,  the  interest  itself  was  genuine  enough.  A  shrewd 
observer  might  have  said  that  in  dealing  with  the  voters  of 
his  county  Rand  exhibited  a  fine  fusion  of  the  subtle  poli 
tician  with  the  well-wishing  neighbour.  The  facts  that  he 
was  quite  simply  and  sincerely  sorry  for  the  postmaster's 
ailing  wife,  and  that  he  had  the  yeoman's  love  for  fresh  and 
springing  green  instead  of  withered  leaf  and  stalk,  in  no  wise 
militated  against  that  other  fact  that  it  was  his  cue  to  con 
ciliate,  as  far  as  might  be,  the  minds  of  men.  He  almost  never 
neglected  his  cue;  when  he  did  so,  it  was  because  uncontrol 
lable  passion  had  intervened.  Now  the  postmaster,  too,  shook 
his  head  over  the  ruined  garden,  entered  with  particularity 
into  the  doctor's  last  report,  and  by  the  time  that  Rand, 
with  a  nod  of  farewell,  left  the  room,  had  voted  him  into  the 
Governor's  chair,  or  any  other  seat  of  honour  to  which  he 
might  aspire.  "Brains,  brains!"  thought  Mr.  Smock.  "And 
a  plain  man  despite  his  fine  marriage !  If  there  were  more 
like  him,  the  country  would  be  safer  than  it  is  to-day. 
There  is  the  horn ! " 

The  stage  with  its  four  horses  and  flapping  leather  hanging, 
its  heated,  red-coated  driver  and  guard,  and  its  dusty  pas 
sengers  swung  into  town  with  great  cracking  of  a  whip  and 
blowing  of  a  horn,  drew  up  at  the  post-office  just  long  enough 
to  deliver  a  plethoric  mail-bag,  and  then  rolled  on  in  a  pillar 
of  dust  to  the  Eagle.  The  crowd  about  the  post-office  in 
creased,  men  gathering  on  the  steps  as  well  as  upon  the  porch 
above  and  on  the  parched  turf  beneath  the  mulberries. 
There  was  a  principle  of  division.  The  Federalists,  who 
were  in  the  minority,  held  one  end  of  the  porch ;  the  more 
prominent  Republicans  the  other,  while  the  steps  were  free  to 
both,  and  the  space  below  was  given  over  to  a  rabble  almost 
entirely  Republican.  Rand,  with  several  associates,  lawyers 
or  planters,  stood  near  the  head  of  the  steps; — all  waited  for 


LEWIS  RAND 

the  sorting  and  distribution  of  the  mail.  The  sun  was  low 
over  the  Ragged  Mountains,  and  after  the  breathless  heat 
of  the  day,  a  wind  had  arisen  that  refreshed  like  wine. 

Rand,  his  back  to  the  light,  and  paying  grave  attention 
to  a  colleague's  low-voiced  exposition  of  a  point  in  law,  did 
not  at  first  observe  a  movement  of  the  throng,  coupled  with 
the  utterance  of  a  well-known  name,  but  presently,  as  though 
an  unseen  hand  had  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  he  turned 
abruptly,  and  looked  with  all  the  rest.  Mr.  Jefferson  was 
coming  up  the  street,  riding  slowly  on  a  big,  black  horse 
and  followed  by  a  negro  groom.  The  tall,  spare  form  sat 
very  upright,  the  reins  loosely  held  in  the  sinewy  hand. 
Above  the  lawn  neckcloth  the  face,  sanguine  in  complexion 
and  with  deep-set  eyes,  looking  smilingly  from  side  to  side 
of  the  village  street.  He  came  on  to  the  post-office  amid  a  buzz 
of  voices,  and  the  more  prominent  men  of  his  party  started 
down  the  steps  to  greet  him.  The  few  Federalists  stiffly  held 
their  places,  but  they,  too,  as  he  rode  up,  lifted  their  hats  to 
their  ancient  neighbour  and  the  country's  Chief  Magistrate. 
A  dozen  hands  were  ready  to  help  him  dismount,  but  he 
shook  his  head  with  a  smile.  "Thank  you,  gentlemen,  but 
I  will  keep  my  seat.  I  have  but  ridden  down  to  get  my  mail. 
—  Mr.  Coles,  if  you  will  be  so  good !  —  It  is  a  pity,  is  it  not, 
to  see  this  drouth  ?  There  has  been  nothing  like  it  these  fifty 
years.  —  Mr.  Holliday,  I  have  news  of  Meriwether  Lewis. 
He  has  seen  the  Pacific. 

"  Tiphysque  novos 
Detegat  orbes;  nee  sit  terris 
Ultima  Thule. 

Mr.  Massie,  I  want  some  apples  from  Spring  Valley  for 
my  .guest,  the  Abbe  Correa.  —  Mr.  Cocke,  my  Merinos  are 
prospering  despite  the  burned  pastures." 

Mr.  Coles  came  down  the  steps  with  a  great  handful  of 


THE  GREEN   DOOR  255 

letters  and  newspapers.  The  President  took  them  from  him, 
and,  without  running  them  over,  deposited  all  together  in  a 
small  cotton  bag  which  hung  from  his  saddle-bow.  This 
done,  he  raised  his  head  and  let  his  glance  travel  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  the  porch  above  him.  Of  the  men  standing 
there  many  were  his  bitter  political  enemies,  but  also  they 
were  his  old  neighbours,  lovers,  like  himself,  of  Albemarle 
and  Virginia,  and  once,  in  the  old  days  when  all  were  Eng 
lish,  as  in  the  later  time  when  all  were  patriots,  his  friends 
and  comrades.  He  bowed  to  them,  and  they  returned  his 
salute,  not  genially,  but  with  the  respect  due  to  his  fame  and 
office.  His  eye  travelled  on.  "Mr.  Rand,  may  I  have  a  word 
with  you  ? " 

Rand  left  the  pillar  against  which  he  had  leaned  and  came 
down  the  steps  to  the  waiting  horseman.  He  moved  neither 
fast  nor  slow,  but  yet  with  proper  alacrity,  and  his  dark  face 
was  imperturbable.  The  fact  of  some  disagreement,  some 
misunderstanding  between  Mr.  Jefferson  and  the  man  who 
had  entered  the  public  arena  as  his  protege,  had  been  for 
some  time  in  the  air  of  Albemarle.  What  it  was,  and  whether 
great  or  small,  Albemarle  was  not  prepared  to  say.  There 
was  a  chill  in  the  air,  it  thought,  but  the  cloud  might  well 
prove  the  merest  passing  mist,  if,  indeed,  Rumour  was  not 
entirely  mistaken,  and  the  coolness  a  misapprehension.  The 
President's  voice  had  been  quiet  and  friendly,  and  Rand 
himself  moved  with  a  most  care-free  aspect.  He  was  of  those 
who  draw  observation,  and  all  eyes  followed  him  down  the 
steps.  He  crossed  the  yard  or  two  of  turf  to  the  black  horse, 
and  stood  beside  the  rider.  "You  wished  me,  sir?" 

"  I  wish  to  know  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  come  to  Mon- 
ticello  to-night  ?  After  nine  the  house  will  be  quiet." 

"Certainly  I  will  come,  sir." 

"I  will  look  for  you  then."  He  bowed  slightly  and  gathered 


256  LEWIS   RAND 

up  his  reins.  Rand  stood  back,  and  with  a  "Good-afternoon 
to  you  all,  gentlemen,"  the  President  wheeled  his  horse  and 
rode  down  the  street  towards  his  mountain  home.  The 
crowd  about  the  post-office  received  its  mail  and  melted  away 
to  town  house  and  country  house,  to  supper  at  both,  and  to 
a  review,  cheerful  or  acrimonious,  of  the  events  of  the  day, 
including  the  fact  that,  as  far  as  appearances  went,  Lewis 
Rand  was  yet  the  President's  staff  and  confidant.  The 
Churchills  and  Fairfax  Gary  rode  away  together.  In  passing, 
the  latter  just  bent  his  head  to  Rand,  but  Colonel  Dick  and 
Major  Edward  sat  like  adamant.  Rand  took  the  letters  doled 
out  to  him  by  Mr.  Smock,  glanced  at  the  superscriptions,  and 
put  them  in  his  pocket,  then  walked  to  the  Eagle  and  spoke 
to  the  hostler  there,  and  finally,  as  the  big  red  ball  of  the 
sun  dipped  behind  the  mountains,  betook  himself  to  Tom 
Mocket's  small  house  on  the  edge  of  town. 
.  He  found  Vinie  on  the  porch.  "  Is  Adam  here  ? "  he  asked. 
She  nodded.  "That's  well,"  he  said.  "I  want  a  talk  with 
him  —  a  long  talk.  And,  Vinie,  can  you  give  me  a  bit  of 
supper  ?  I  won't  go  home  until  late  to-night;  —  I  have  sent 
my  wife  word.  Tell  Adam,  will  you  ?  that  I  am  here,  and 
let  us  have  the  porch  to  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MONTICELLO   AGAIN 

THE  night  was  hot  and  dark  when  Rand,  riding  Selim, 
left  the  town  and  took  the  Monticello  road.  He 
forded  the  creek,  and  the  horse,  scrambling  up  the 
farther  side,  struck  fire  from  the  loose  stones.  Farther  on, 
the  way  grew  steep,  and  the  heavy  shadow  of  the  overhang 
ing  trees  made  yet  more  oppressive  the  breathless  night.  The 
stars  could  hardly  be  seen  between  the  branches,  but  from 
the  ground  to  the  leafy  roof  the  fireflies  sparkled  restlessly. 
Rand  thought,  as  he  rode,  of  the  future  and  the  present,  but 
not  of  the  past.  It  was  so  old  and  familiar,  this  road,  that  he 
might  well  feel  the  eyes  of  the  past  fixed  upon  him  from  every 
bush  and  tree;  but  if  he  felt  the  gaze,  he  set  his  will  and  would 
not  return  it.  For  some  time  he  climbed  through  the  thick 
darkness,  shot  with  those  small  and  wandering  fires,  but  at 
last  he  came  upon  the  higher  levels  and  saw  below  him  the 
wide  and  dark  plain.  In  the  east  there  was  heat  lightning. 
Here  on  the  mountain-top  the  air  blew,  and  a  man  was  free 
from  the  dust  of  the  valley.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  checked 
Selim  for  a  moment,  and,  sitting  there,  looked  out  over  the 
vast  expanse;  but  the  eyes  of  the  past  grew  troublesome,  and 
he  hurried  on.  It  was  striking  nine  when  a  negro  opened 
the  house  gate  for  him  and,  following  him  to  the  portico, 
took  the  horse  from  which  he  dismounted.  Light  streamed 
from  the  open  door,  and  from  the  library  windows.  Except 
for  a  glimmer  in  the  Abbe  Correa's  room,  the  rest  of  the 
house  was  in  darkness.  If  Mrs.  Randolph  and  her  daugh 
ters  were  there,  they  had  retired.  He  heard  no  voices.  In 


258  LEWIS   RAND 

the  hot  and  sulphurous  night  the  pillared,  silent  house  with 
its  open  portal  provoked  a  sensation  of  strangeness.  Rand 
crossed  the  portico  and  paused  at  the  door.  Time  had  been 
when  he  would  have  made  no  pause,  but,  familiar  to  the  house 
and  assured  of  his  welcome,  would  have  passed  through  the 
wide  hall  to  the  library  and  his  waiting  friend  and  mentor. 
Now  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  knocker,  but  before  it  could 
sound,  a  door  halfway  down  the  hall  opened,  and  there 
appeared  the  tall  figure  of  the  President.  He  stood  for  a 
moment,  framed  in  the  doorway,  gazing  at  his  visitor,  and 
there  was  in  his  regard  a  curious  thoughtfulness,  an  old 
regret,  and  —  or  so  Rand  thought  —  a  faint  hostility.  The 
look  lasted  but  a  moment;  he  raised  his  hand,  and,  with  a 
movement  that  was  both  a  gesture  of  welcome  and  an  invi 
tation  to  follow  him,  turned  and  entered  the  passage  which 
led  to  the  library.  Rand  moved  in  silence  through  the  hall, 
where  Indian  curiosities,  horns  of  elk,  and  prehistoric  relics 
were  arranged  above  the  marble  heads  of  Buonaparte  and 
Alexander  the  First,  Franklin  and  Voltaire,  and  down  the 
narrow  passage  to  the  room  that  had  been  almost  chief  of 
all  his  sacred  places.  It  was  now  somewhat  dimly  lit,  with 
every  window  wide  to  the  night.  Jefferson,  sitting  beside  the 
table  in  his  particular  great  chair,  motioned  the  younger  man 
to  a  seat  across  from  him,  evidently  placed  in  anticipation 
of  his  coming.  Rand  took  the  chair,  but  as  he  did  so,  he 
slightly  moved  the  candles  upon  the  table  so  that  they  did 
not  illumine,  as  they  had  been  placed  to  illumine,  his  face 
and  figure.  It  was  he  who  began  the  conversation,  and  he 
wasted  no  time  upon  preliminaries.  The  night  was  in  his 
blood,  and  he  was  weary  of  half  measures.  This  storm  had 
long  been  brewing:  let  it  break  and  be  over  with;  better  the 
open  lightning  than  the  sullen  storing  up  of  unpaid  scores, 
unemptied  vials  of  wrath!  There  were  matters  of  quarrel: 


MONTICELLO   AGAIN  259 

well,  let  the  quarrel  come !  The  supreme  matter,  unknown 
and  undreamed  of  by  the  philosopher  opposite  him,  would 
sleep  secure  beneath  the  uproar  over  little  things.  He  craved 
the  open  quarrel.  It  would  be  easier  after  the  storm.  The 
air  would  be  cleared,  though  by  forces  that  were  dire,  and  he 
could  go  more  easily  through  the  forest  when  he  had  laid 
the  trees  low.  It  was  better  to  hurry  over  the  bared  plain 
towards  the  shining  goal  than  to  stumble  and  be  deterred 
amid  these  snares  of  old  memories,  habits,  affections,  and 
gratitudes.  The  past  —  the  past  was  man's  enemy.  He  was 
committed  to  the  future,  and  in  order  to  serve  that  strong 
master  there  was  work  —  disagreeable  work  —  to  be  done 
in  the  present.  Ingratitude !  —  that,  too,  was  but  a  word, 
though  a  long  one.  He  was  willing  to  deceive  himself,  and  so 
ideas  and  images  came  at  his  bidding,  but  they  hung  his 
path  with  false  lights,  and  they  served,  not  him,  but  his 
inward  foe. 

He  spoke  abruptly.  "That  Militia  Bill,  —  the  matter  did 
not  approve  itself  to  my  reason,  and  so  I  could  not  push 
it  through.  I  understood,  of  course,  at  the  time  that  you  were 
vexed  —  " 

"I  should  not  say  that  'vexed'  was  the  word.  I  was  sur 
prised.  You  will  do  me  the  justice  to  acknowledge  that  I 
cheerfully  accepted  the  explanation  which  you  gave  me. 
You  are  fully  aware  that  I,  of  all  men,  would  be  the  last  to 
deny  your  right  —  any  man's  right  —  of  private  judgment. 
All  this  was  last  winter,  and  might  have  been  buried  out 
of  sight." 

"I  have  heard  that  a  letter  of  mine  in  the  Enquirer  gave 
you  umbrage.  It  was  my  opinion  that  the  country's  honour 
demanded  less  milk  and  water,  less  supineness  in  our  deal 
ings -with  England,  and  I  expressed  my  opinion — " 

"The  country's  honour!  That  expression  of  your  opinion 


260  LEWIS   RAND 

placed  you  among  the  critics  of  the  administration,  and 
that  at  an  hour  when  every  friend  was  needed.  It  came 
without  warning,  and  if  it  was  meant  to  wound  me,  it  suc 
ceeded." 

Rand  moved  restlessly.  "It  was  not,"  he  said  sombrely; 
"it  was  not  meant  to  wound  you,  sir.  Let  me,  once  for  all, 
sitting  in  this  room  amid  the  shades  of  so  many  past  kind 
nesses,  utterly  disavow  any  personal  feeling  toward  you  other 
than  respect  and  gratitude.  It  was  apparent  to  me  that  the 
letter  must  be  written,  but  I  take  God  to  witness  that  I 
regretted  the  necessity." 

"The  regret,"  answered  the  other,  "will  doubtless,  in  the 
sight  of  the  Power  you  invoke,  justify  the  performance.  Well, 
the  nine  days'  wonder  of  the  letter  is  long  over!  A  man 
in  public  life  cannot  live  sixty  years  without  suffering  and 
forgiving  many  a  similar  stab.  The  letter  was  in  February. 
Afterwards  — 

"I  ceased  to  write  to  you.  Through  all  the  years  in  which 
I  had  written,  we  had  been  in  perfect  accord.  Now  I  saw  the 
rift  between  us,  and  that  it  would  widen,  and  I  threw  no 
futile  bridges." 

"You  are  frank.  I  have  indeed  letters  from  you,  written 
in  this  room  "  —  There  was  upon  the  table  an  orderly  litter 
of  books  and  papers.  From  a  packet  of  the  latter  Jefferson 
drew  a  letter,  unfolded  it,  and,  stretching  out  his  long  arm, 
laid  it  on  the  table  before  his  visitor.  "There  is  one,"  he  said, 
"written  not  three  years  ago,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  when 
you  were  elected  to  the  General  Assembly.  I  shall  ask  you 
to  do  me  the  favour  to  read  it  through." 

Rand  took  the  letter  and  ran  his  dark  eye  down  the  sheets. 
As  he  read,  the  blood  stained  his  cheek,  brow,  and  throat,  and 
presently,  with  a  violent  movement,  he  rose  and,  crossing  the 
room  to  a  window,  stood  there  with  his  face  to  the  night. 


MONTICELLO   AGAIN  261 

The  clock  had  ticked  three  minutes  before  he  turned  and, 
coming  back  to  the  table,  dropped  the  letter  upon  its  pol 
ished  surface.  "You  have  your  revenge,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I 
was  like  that  —  and  less  than  three  years  ago.  I  remember 
that  night  very  well,  and  had  a  spirit  whispered  to  me  then 
that  this  night  would  come,  I  would  have  told  the  spirit  that 
he  lied!  And  it  has  come.  Let  us  pass  to  the  next  count 
in  the  indictment/' 

"The  Albemarle  Resolutions  —  " 

"I  carried  them." 

"I  wished  them  carried,  but  I  should  rather  have  seen 
them  lost  than  that  in  your  speech  —  a  speech  that  resounded 
far  and  wide  —  you  should  have  put  the  face  you  did  upon 
matters!  You  knew  my  sentiments  and  convictions;  until 
I  read  that  speech,  I  thought  they  were  your  own.  The 
Albemarle  Resolutions !  I  have  heard  it  said  that  your  zeal 
for  the  Albemarle  Resolutions  was  largely  fanned  by  the 
fact  that  your  personal  enemy  was  chief  among  your  oppo 
nents  ! " 

"May  I  ask  who  said  that?" 

"You  may  ask,  but  I  shall  not  answer.  We  are  now  at 
late  February." 

"The  Assembly  adjourned.    I  returned  to  Albemarle." 

"You  took  first  a  journey  to  Philadelphia." 

"Yes.    Is  there  treason  in  that?" 

"That,"  said  Jefferson,  with  calmness,  "is  a  word  not  yet 
of  my  using." 

Rand  leaned  forward.  "Yet  ? "  he  repeated,  with  emphasis. 

There  fell  a  silence  in  the  room.  After  a  moment  of  sitting 
quietly,  his  hands  held  lightly  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  Mr. 
Jefferson  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor.  The  action  was 
unusual;  in  all  personal  intercourse  his  command  of  himself 
was  remarkable.  An  inveterate  cheerful  composure,  a  still 


262  LEWIS   RAND 

sunniness,  a  readiness  to  settle  all  jars  of  the  universe  in 
an  extremely  short  time  and  without  stirring  from  his  chair, 
were  characteristics  with  which  Rand  was  too  familiar  not 
to  feel  a  frowning  wonder  at  the  pacing  figure  and  the  trou 
bled  footfall.  He  was  a  man  bold  to  hardihood,  and  well 
assured  of  a  covered  trail,  so  assured  that  his  brain  rejected 
with  vehemence  the  thought  that  darted  through  it.  To  Mr. 
Jefferson  the  word  that  he  had  audaciously  used  could  have 
no  significance.  Treason  !  Traitor!  Aaron  Burr  and  his  Jack- 
o'-Lantern  ambitions,  indeed,  had  long  been  looked  upon 
with  suspicion,  vague  and  ill-directed,  now  slumbering  and 
now  idly  alert.  In  this  very  room  —  in  this  very  room  the 
man  had  been  talked  of,  discussed,  analysed,  and  puffed  away 
by  the  two  who  now  held  it  with  their  estranged  and  troubled 
souls.  Burr  was  gone;  this  August  night  he  was  floating 
down  the  Ohio  toward  New  Orleans  and  the  promised  blow. 
Had  some  fool  or  knave  or  sickly  conscience  among  the  motley 
that  was  conspiring  with  him  turned  coward  or  been  bought  ? 
It  was  possible.  Burr  might  be  betrayed,  but  hardly  Lewis 
Rand.  That  was  a  guarded  maze  to  which  Mr.  Jefferson 
could  have  no  clue. 

Jefferson  came  back  to  the  table  and  the  great  chair. 
uYou  were,  of  course,  as  free  as  any  man  to  travel  to  Phila 
delphia  or  where  you  would.  I  heard  that  you  were  upon 
such  a  journey,  and  I  felt  a  certitude  that  you  would  also 
visit  Washington.  Had  you  done  this,  I  should  have  received 
you  with  the  old  confidence  and  affection.  I  should  have 
listened  to  the  explanation  I  felt  assured  you  would  wish  to 
make.  At  that  time  it  was  my  belief  that  there  needed  but 
one  long  conversation  between  us  to  remove  misapprehen 
sion,  to  convince  you  of  your  error,  and  to  recall  you  to  your 
allegiance.  Do  not  mistake  me.  I  craved  no  more  than 
was  human,  no  more  than  was  justified  by  our  relations  in 


I  UNIVERSITY   fl 

W3F  ,/ 

^S^MONTICELLO   AGAIN  263 

the  past  —  your  allegiance  to  me.  But  I  wished  to  see  you 
devoutly  true  to  the  principles  you  professed,  to  the  Repub 
lican  Idea,  and  to  all  that  you,  no  less  than  I,  had  once 
included  in  that  term.  I  looked  for  you  in  Washington, 
and  I  looked  in  vain." 

"You  make  it  hard  for  me,"  said  Rand,  with  lowered  eyes. 
"I  had  no  explanation  to  give." 

"When  you  neither  came  nor  wrote,  I  assumed  as  much. 
It  was  in  April  that  you  returned  to  Albemarle.  Since  then 
I  have  myself  been  twice  in  the  county." 

"We  have  met  —  " 

"  But  never  alone.  Had  you  forgotten  the  Monticello  road  ? 
After  the  Three-Notched  Road,  I  should  have  thought  it  best 
known  to  you." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it,  sir.  But  I  might  doubt  my  wel 
come  here." 

"You  might  well  doubt  it,"  answered  the  other  sternly. 
"  But  had  there  been  humility  in  your  heart  —  ay,  or 
common  remembrance  !  —  that  doubt  would  not  have 
kept  you  back.  When  I  saw  at  last  that  you  would  not 
come,  I  — " 

He  paused,  took  from  the  table  a  book  and  turned  its 
leaves,  then  closed  and  laid  it  down  again.  "I  whistled  you 
down  the  wind,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  silence,  then,  far  away  in  the  hot  night,  a 
dog  howled.  The  hall  clock  struck  the  hour.  Rand  drew  his 
breath  sharply  and  turned  in  his  chair.  "And  you  brought 
me  here  to-night  to  tell  me  so  ? " 

"I  will  answer  that  presently.  In  these  three  years  you 
have  made  yourself  a  great  name  in  Virginia;  and  now  your 
party  —  It  is  still  your  party  ? " 

"It  is  still  my  party." 

"Your  party  wishes  to  make  you  Governor.    You  have 


264  LEWIS   RAND 

travelled  fast  and  far  since  the  days  when  you  walked  with 
your  father!  Yesterday  I  was  astounded  to  hear  that  you 
had  refused  the  nomination." 

"Why  should  you  be  'astounded'  ?" 

"Because  I  hold  you  for  a  most  ambitious  man,  and  this 
is  the  plain,  the  apparent  step  in  your  fortunes.  At  what 
goal  are  you  aiming  ? " 

"I  did  not  want  the  governorship,  sir." 

"Then  you  want  a  greater  thing.  What  it  is  —  what  it 
is"  With  a  sudden  movement  he  rested  his  elbow  on 
the  table  and  regarded  Rand  from  under  the  shelter  of  his 
hand.  "And  so,"  he  said  at  last,  in  an  altered  voice,  —  "and 
so  you  will  not  be  Governor.  Well,  it  is  an  honourable  post. 
This  is  late  August,  and  in  November  you  return  to  Rich 
mond  —  " 

"I  go  first  across  the  mountains  to  examine  a  tract  of  land 
I  have  bought." 

"Indeed  ?    When  do  you  go  ?" 

"I  have  not  altogether  decided." 

"Will  you  take  Mrs.  Rand  with  you  ?" 

"I  think  so.   Yes." 

"It  is,"  said  Mr.  Jefferson,  "a  rough  journey  and  a  wild 
country  for  a  lady." 

As  he  spoke  he  rose,  and,  going  to  a  small  table,  poured 
for  himself  a  little  wine  in  a  glass  and  drank  it  slowly,  then, 
putting  the  glass  gently  down,  passed  to  a  long  window  and 
stood,  as  Rand  had  stood  before  him,  looking  out  into  the 
night.  When  he  turned,  the  expression  of  his  face  had  again 
changed.  "It  is  growing  late,"  he  said.  "In  two  days  I  re 
turn  to  Washington.  The  world  will  have  grown  older  ere 
we  meet  again.  Who  knows  ?  We  may  never  meet  again. 
This  night  we  may  be  parting  forever.  You  ask  me  if  I 
brought  you  here  to  tell  you  that  I  acquiesced  in  this  quarrel 


MONTICELLO   AGAIN  265 

of  your  making,  shook  you  from  my  thoughts,  and  bade  you 
an  eternal  farewell.  That  is  as  may  be.  Even  now  —  even 
now  the  nature  of  our  parting  is  in  your  hands ! " 

Rand  also  had  risen.  "In  this  room,  what  can  I  say  ?  Your 
kindness  to  me  has  been  very  great.  My  God,  sir,  I  should 
be  stock  or  stone  not  to  feel  abashed !  And  yet  —  and  yet  — 
Will  you  have  it  at  last  ?  You  ask  discipleship  —  you  must 
have  about  you  tame  and  obedient  spirits —  a  Saint  James 
the  Greater  and  a  Saint  James  the  Less  to  hearken  to  your 
words  and  spread  them  far  and  wide,  and  all  the  attentive 
band  to  wait  upon  your  wisdom !  Free !  We  are  tremen 
dously  free,  but  you  must  still  be  Lord  and  Master !  Well, 
say  that  I  rebel  — " 

"  I  see  that  you  have  done  so,"  said  Jefferson,  with 
irony.  "  /  am  not  your  Lord  and  Master." 

"I  would  not,  if  I  could,  have  shunned  this  interview  to 
night.  For  long  we  have  felt  this  strain,  and  now  the  sharp 
break  is  over.  I  shall  sleep  the  better  for  it." 

"I  am  glad,  sir,  that  you  view  it  so." 

"  For  years  I  have  worn  your  livery  and  trudged  your  road, 
—  that  fair,  wide  country  road  with  bleating  sheep  and  farmer 
folk,  all  going  to  markets  dull  as  death !  I  've  swincked  and 
sweated  for  you  on  that  road.  Now  I  '11  tread  my  own,  though 
I  come  at  last  to  the  gates  of  Tartarus !  My  service  is  done, 
sir;  I'm  out  of  livery." 

"Your  road!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Where  does  it  lie,  and 
who  are  your  fellow  travellers  ?  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke 
and  the  new  Republicans  ?  or  monarchism  and  the  Federal 
ists  ?  Or  have  I  the  honour,  to-night,  to  entertain  a  Vir 
ginian  Caesar  ?  —  perhaps  even  a  Buonaparte  ? "  His  voice 
changed.  "Have  you  reflected,  sir,  that  there  is  some  danger 
in  so  free  an  expression  of  your  mind  ? " 

"  I  have  reflected,"  answered  Rand, "  that  there  is  no  danger 


266  LEWIS   RAND 

so  intolerable  as  the  chafing  of  a  half-acknowledged  bond. 
The  clock  is  striking  again.  I  owe  you  much,  sir.  I  thank 
you  for  it.  While  I  served  you,  I  served  faithfully.  It  is 
over  now.  I  look  you  in  the  face  and  tell  you  this,  and  so  I 
give  you  warning  that  I  am  free.  Henceforth  I  act  as  my 
free  will  directs." 

"Act,  then ! "  said  the  other.  "Act,  and  find  a  weight  upon 
your  genius  heavier  than  all  behests  of  duty,  friendship,  faith, 
and  loyalty  rolled  in  one !  Single  out  from  all  humanity  one 
man  alone,  and  that  yourself,  surround  him  with  a  monstrous 
observance,  sacrifice  before  him  every  living  thing  that  shall 
cross  his  path,  crown  him  with  gold,  and  banish  from  his  court 
every  idea  that  will  not  play  the  sycophant!  Seat  him,  a 
chained  king,  high  in  some  red  star !  —  and  still,  like  a  wan 
dering  wind,  large  and  candid'  thought,  straying  some  day 
past  your  gloomy  windows,  shall  look  within  and  say,  'See 
this  slave  to  himself  chained  upon  his  burning  throne!' 
When  at  last  you  hear  the  voice,  try  to  break  away." 

He  left  the  window  and,  crossing  to  the  mantel,  pulled  the 
bell-rope.  Old  Burwell  appeared  at  the  door.  "Mr.  Rand's 
horse,  Burwell,"  directed  the  master,  in  a  cheerful  voice,  then, 
when  the  negro  was  gone,  spoke  on  without  change  of  tone. 
"The  night  has  altered  while  we  talked.  There  is  a  great 
bank  of  cloud  in  the  west,  and  I  think  the  drouth  is  broken. 
You  will  reach  Roselands,  however,  before  the  rain  comes 
down.  Pray  present  my  respectful  salutations  to  Mrs.  Rand." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Rand.  "My  wife"—  He 
hesitated,  then,  "I  would  have  you  aware  that  my  wife's 
hand  would  keep  me  in  that  same  country  road  I  spoke  of, 
among  those  same  green  fields  and  peaceful,  blameless  folk ! 
Her  star  is  not  like  mine — " 

"  I  esteem  her  the  more  highly  for  it,"  answered  the  other. 
"  I  hear  your  horse  upon  the  gravel  —  Selim,  still,  is  it  not  ? 


MONTICELLO   AGAIN  267 

A  pleasant  ride  to  you  home  through  this  fresher  air !  Good 
night  —  and  good-bye." 

"I  am  not  the  monster  I  appear  to  you,"  said  Rand.  "A 
man  may  go  through  life  and  never  encounter  the  irresistible 
current.  When  he  does  —  I  am  as  little  superstitious  as 
you,  but  I  tell  you  I  am  borne  on !  All  the  men  and  women 
whose  blood  is  in  my  veins  hurry  me  on,  and  there  is  behind 
me  a  tide  of  circumstance.  For  all  past  kindnesses  I  thank 
you,  sir.  I  admire  you  much,  reverence  you  no  little,  and 
bid  you  a  long  farewell." 

He  walked  to  the  door,  then,  turning,  swept  the  room  with 
one  slow  look.  "I  was  fifteen,"  he  said,  "the  day  I  first  came 
here.  There  was  a  glass  of  lilies  on  the  table.  Good-night, 
sir,  —  and  good-bye." 

Without,  the  night  was  indeed  cooler,  with  a  sighing  wind, 
and  in  the  west  a  thickening  wrack  of  clouds.  It  was  very 
dark.  The  restless  and  multitudinous  flicker  of  the  fireflies 
but  emphasized  the  shadow,  and  the  stars  seemed  few  and 
dim.  It  was  near  midnight,  and  the  wide  landscape  below 
the  mountain  lay  in  darkness,  save  for  one  distant  knoll 
where  lights  were  burning.  That  was  Fontenoy,  and  Rand, 
looking  toward  it  with  knitted  brows,  wondered  why  the  house 
was  so  brightly  lighted  at  such  an  hour.  In  another  moment 
the  road  descended,  the  heavy  trees  shut  out  the  view  of  the 
valley,  and  with  very  much  indeed  upon  his  mind,  he  thought 
no  more  of  Fontenoy.  It  was  utterly  necessary  to  him  to  find 
a  remedy  for  the  sting,  keen  and  intolerable,  which  he  bore 
with  him  from  Monticello.  He  felt  the  poison  as  he  rode, 
and  his  mind  searched,  in  passion  and  in  haste,  for  the 
sovereign  antidote.  He  found  it  and  applied  it,  and  the 
rankling  pain  grew  less.  Now  more  than  ever  was  it  neces 
sary  to  go  on.  Now  more  than  ever  he  must  commit  himself 
without  reserve  to  the  strong  current.  When  it  had  borne 


268  LEWIS   RAND 

him  to  a  fair  and  far  country,  to  kingship,  sway,  empire,  and 
vast  renown,  then  would  this  night  be  justified ! 

He  left  the  mountain,  and,  riding  rapidly,  soon  found  him 
self  upon  the  road  to  Roselands.  It  was  also  the  Greenwood 
road.  Between  the  two  plantations  lay  a  deep  wood,  and  as 
he  emerged  from  this,  he  saw  before  him  in  the  dim  starlight 
a  horseman,  coming  towards  him  from  Roselands.  "Is  that 
you,  Mocket?"  he  called. 

The  other  drew  rein.  "It  is  Ludwell  Gary.  Good-evening, 
Mr.  Rand.  I  have  just  left  Roselands." 

"Indeed?"  exclaimed  Rand.    "May  I  ask—" 

"  I  came  from  Fontenoy  at  the  request  of  Colonel  Churchill. 
Mrs.  Churchill  fell  suddenly  very  ill  to-night.  They  think 
she  will  not  last  many  hours,  and  she  asks  continually  for 
her  niece.  Colonel  Churchill  sent  me  to  beg  Mrs.  Rand  to 
come  without  delay  to  Fontenoy.  I  have  delivered  my  mes 
sage,  and  she  but  waits  your  return  to  Roselands — " 

"I  will  hurry  on,"  said  Rand.  "Be  so  good  as  to  tell 
Colonel  Churchill  that  Joab  will  bring  her  in  the  chaise  — 
Mammy  Chloe  with  her.  I  am  sorry  for  your  news.  Accept, 
too,  our  thanks  for  the  trouble  to  which  you  have  put  your 
self— " 

"It  is  nothing,"  answered  Cary.  "My  brother  and  I 
chanced  to  be  at  Fontenoy.  Mrs.  Rand  is  much  distressed, 
and  I  '11  detain  you  no  longer  - 

He  bowed,  touched  his  horse,  and  rode  into  the  wood. 
Rand  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  after  him  for  a  long 
moment,  then  shook  his  reins,  broke  into  a  gallop,  and  passed 
presently  through  the  Roselands  gates  and  up  the  dark  drive 
to  the  stone  steps  and  open  door.  Jacqueline  met  him  on  the 
threshold.  She  was  trembling,  but  not  weeping;  there  was 
even  a  wistful  fire  and  passion  in  her  dark  eyes  and  a  rose- 
leaf  colour  in  her  cheeks.  "Did  you  meet  him  ?"  she  said. 


MONTICELLO   AGAIN  269 

"  Did  he  tell  you  ?  I  am  all  ready.  He  says  that  Aunt 
Nancy  thinks  that  it  is  years  ago,  and  that  I  'm  Jacqueline 
Churchill  still.  I  thought  you  would  never,  never  come"  — 
She  turned  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  "Oh,  Lewis,  we 
are  going  to  Fontenoy!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  NINETEENTH  OF  FEBRUARY 

THAT'S  true,"  quoth  Gaudylock.   "It's  the  cracked  * 
pitcher  that  goes  oftenest  to  the  well,  and  a  delicate 
lady  that 's  lain  a-dying  on  her  bed  this  twenty  year 
may  live  to  see  you  and  me  and  the  blacksmith  buried !  There 
never  was  a  Churchill  that  I  did  n't  like,  and  I  'm  certainly 
glad  she 's  better  this  morning.    If  you  're  going  to  Green 
wood,  I  '11  bear  you  company  for  a  bit.   I  'm  bound  for  Rose- 
lands  myself." 

Ludwell  Cary  dismounted  and,  with  his  bridle  across  his 
arm,  walked  beside  the  hunter.  "  Albemarle  has  not  seen  you 
for  a  long  while,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "The  county  is  fond 
of  you,  and  glad  to  have  you  home  again." 

"So  a  lady  told  me  the  other  day!"  answered  Adam.  "It 
has  been  a  year  since  I  was  in  Albemarle,  —  but  I  saw  you, 
sir,  last  winter  in  Richmond." 

"Last  winter?    I  don't  recall — " 

"At  Lynch's  Coffee  House.  The  twentieth  of  February. 
The  day  the  Albemarle  Resolutions  were  passed." 

"Ah!"  breathed  Cary.  The  two  walked  on,  now  in  sun, 
now  in  shade,  upon  the  quiet  road.  The  drouth  was  broken. 
There  had  been  a  torrential  rain,  then  two  days  of  sunshine. 
A  cool  wind  now  stirred  the  treetops;  the  mountains  drew 
closer  in  the  crystal  air,  and  the  washed  fields  renewed  their 
green.  So  bright  and  SUM^  was  the  morning  that  the  late 
summer  wore  the  air  of  sflRig-  Cary  stood  still  beside  a  log, 
huge  and  mossy,  that  la)^Hide  the  road.  "Let  us  rest  here 
a  moment,"  he  said,  an|^Bking  his  seat,  began  to  draw  in 


1 


THE  NINETEENTH   OF  FEBRUARY     271 

the  dust  before  him  with  the  butt  of  his  whip.  "I  do  not  re 
member  seeing  you  that  day.  I  did  not  know  that  you  were 
in  Richmond." 

"I  was  there,"  answered  Adam  cheerfully,  "on  business." 
He  took  an  acorn  from  the  ground  and  balanced  it  upon 
a  brown  forefinger.  "  It 's  a  handsome  place  —  Lynch's  — 
and,  my  faith,  one  sees  the  best  of  company !  I  was  there 
with  Lewis  Rand." 

"Ah!" 

The  sound  was  sharp,  and  long  like  an  indrawn  breath. 
Adam,  who  could  read  the  tones  of  a  man's  voice,  glanced 
aside  and  remembered  the  quarrel.  "Thin  ice  there,  and 
crackling  twigs ! "  he  thought.  "  Look  where  you  set  your 
moccasin,  Golden-Tongue!"  Aloud  he  said,  "You  and  your 
brother  came  in  out  of  the  snow,  and  read  your  letters  by 
the  fire.  It  had  fallen  thick  the  day  before." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  A  heavy  fall  all  day,  but  at  night  it 
cleared." 

"Yes,"  went  on  the  other  blithely.  "I  was  at  Lewis 
Rand's  on  Shockoe  Hill,  and  when  I  walked  home,  the  stars 
were  shining.  What 's  the  matter,  sir  ? " 

"Nothing.   Why?" 

"I  thought,"  quoth  Adam,  "that  some  varmint  had  stung 
you."  He  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  acorn.  "You  are  a 
schollard,  Mr.  Gary.  Is  the  whole  oak,  root,  branch,  and 
seed,  in  the  acorn  —  bound  to  come  out  just  that  way  ? " 

"So  they  say,"  answered  Gary.  "And  in  the  invisible  acorn 
of  that  oak  a  second  tree,  and  that  second  holds  a  third, 
and  the  third  a  fourth,  and  so  on  through  the  magic  forest. 
Consequences  to  the  thousandth  generation.  You  were 
saying  that  you  were  at  Mr.  Rand's  the  night  of  the  nine 
teenth  of  February." 

"Was  I  ? "  asked  Adam,  with  coolness.   "Oh,  yes !  I  went 


272  LEWIS   RAND 

over  to  talk  with  him  about  a  buffalo  skin  and  some  antlers 
of  elk  that  he  wanted  for  Roselands  —  and  the  stars  were 
shining  when  I  came  away/'  To  himself  he  said,  "Now  why 
did  he  start  like  that  a  moment  back  ?  It  was  n't  because 
the  snow  had  stopped  and  the  stars  were  shining.  Where 
was  he  that  night  ? " 

Gary  drew  a  circle  in  the  dust  with  the  handle  of  his  whip. 
"You  were  at  Lynch's  with  Mr.  Rand  the  next  afternoon. 
And  immediately  after  that  you  returned  to  the  West  ? " 

Adam  nodded.  The  acorn  was  yet  poised  upon  his  finger, 
but  his  keen  blue  eyes  were  for  the  other's  face  and  form, 
bent  over  the  drawing  in  the  dusty  road.  "Ay,  West  I  went," 
he  said  cheerfully.  "  I  'm  just  a  born  wanderer !  I  can't  any 
more  stay  in  one  town  than  a  bird  can  stay  on  one  bush." 

"A  born  wanderer,"  said  Gary  pleasantly,  "is  almost 
always  a  born  good  fellow.  How  long  this  time  will  be  your 
stay  in  Albemarle  ? " 

"Why,  that's  as  may  be,"  answered  Adam,  with  vague 
ness.  "  I  'm  mighty  fond  of  this  country  in  the  fall  of  the  year, 
and  I've  a  hankering  for  an  old-time  Christmas  at  home  — 
But,  my  faith ;  wanderers  never  know  when  the  fit  will  take 
them !    It  may  be  to-morrow,  and  it  may  be  next  year." 

"You  and  Mr.  Rand  are  old  friends?" 

"You  may  say  that,"  exclaimed  the  hunter.  "There's  a 
connection  somewhere  between  the  Gaudylocks  and  the 
Rands,  and  I  knew  Gideon  better  than  most  men.  As  for 
Lewis,  I  reckon  there  was  a  time  when  I  was  almost  his  only 
friend.  I  've  stood  between  him  and  many  a  beating,  and 
't  was  I  that  taught  him  to  shoot.  A  fine  place  he's  making 
out  of  Roselands ! " 

"Yes,"  agreed  Gary,  with  a  quick  sigh;  "a  beautiful 
place.  The  West  is  in  a  ferment  just  now,  is  it  not  ?  One 
hears  much  talk  of  dissatisfaction." 


THE   NINETEENTH   OF   FEBRUARY     273 

"Why,  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  told  me  when  I  come  home," 
said  Adam.  "The  Indians  call  such  idle  speech  talk  of  sing 
ing  birds.  My  faith,  I  think  all  the  singing  birds  in  the  Mis 
sissippi  Territory  have  flown  East!  In  the  West  we  don't 
listen  to  them.  That's  a  fine  mare  you're  riding,  sir!  You 
should  see  the  wild  horses  start  up  from  the  prairie  grass." 

"That  would  be  worth  seeing.  Have  you  ever,  in  your 
wanderings,  come  across  Aaron  Burr  ? " 

Adam  regarded  the  other  side  of  the  acorn.  "Aaron  Burr! 
Why,  I  would  n't  say  that  I  may  n't  have  seen  him  some 
where.  A  man  who  traps  and  trades,  and  hunts  and  fishes, 
up  and  down  a  thousand  miles  of  the  Mississippi  River  is 
bound  to  come  across  a  mort  of  men.  But  't  would  be  by 
accident.  He 's  a  gentleman  and  a  talker,  and  he  was  the  Vice- 
President.  I  reckon  he  runs  with  the  Governor  and  the  Gen 
eral  and  the  gentleman-planter  and  the  New  Orleans  ladies." 
Adam  laughed  genially.  "I  know  a  red  lip  or  two  in  New 
Orleans  myself,  but  they  're  not  ladies !  and  I  drink  with  the 
soldiers,  but  not  with  the  General.  What's  your  interest, 
sir,  in  Aaron  Burr  ? " 

"The  common  interest,"  said  Gary,  rising.  "When  you 
quit  Albemarle  this  time,  you  quit  it  alone  ? " 

Gaudylock  tossed  aside  the  acorn.  "That  is  my  fortune," 
he  answered  coolly. 

Gary  swung  himself  into  his  saddle.  "The  woods,  I  see, 
teach  but  half  the  Spartan  learning.  We'll  part  here,  I 
think,  unless  you  '11  come  by  Greenwood  ? " 

"Thank  you  kindly,  sir,  but  I've  a  bit  of  a  woodsman's 
job  to  look  after  at  Roselands.  What  was  the  Spartan 
learning  ? " 

"You  are  going,"  replied  the  other,  "to  the  house  of  a 
gentleman  who  knows  the  classics.  Ask  him.  Good-day!" 

"Good-day,"  said  Adam    somewhat  abruptly,  and  with 


274  LEWIS   RAND 

a  thoughtful  face  watched  the  other  ride  away.  "He  has 
been  listening,"  thought  the  hunter,  "to  singing  birds.  Now 
when,  and  where,  and  to  how  loud  a  singing  ?  The  nine 
teenth  of  February  —  and  the  snowstorm  —  and  the  stars 
shining  as  I  walked  home  from  Shockoe  Hill.  He  did  n't  know 
that  I  was  in  Richmond !  Then,  was  he  on  Burr's  trail  ? 
Humph!.  Where  was  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  the  night  of  the 
nineteenth  of  February  ? "  Adam  took  up  his  gun  and  coon- 
skin  cap.  "I'll  see  if  Lewis  can  make  that  light,"  he  said, 
and  turned  his  face  to  Roselands. 

Ludwell  Gary  rode  to  Greenwood,  dismounted,  and,  going 
into  the  library,  took  from  the  drawer  of  his  desk  a  letter, 
opened  it,  and  ran  it  over.  "As  to  your  enquiries,"  said  the 
letter,  "Swartwout  and  Bollman  are  believed  to  be  in  New 
Orleans,  Ogden  in  Kentucky,  and  Aaron  Burr  himself  at  a 
Mr.  Harman  Blennerhassett's  on  the  Ohio.  Rumour  has  it 
that  Burr's  daughter  and  her  son  are  travelling  to  meet  him. 
It  says,  moreover,  that  a  number  of  gentlemen  in  the  East 
are  winding  up  their  affairs  preparatory  to  leaving  for  the 
West.  One  and  all  look  more  innocent  than  lambs,  but  they 
dream  at  night  of  senoritas,  besieged  cities,  and  the  mines 
of  Montezuma !  There 's  a  report  to-day  that  Burr  is  levy 
ing  troops.  That 's  war.  If  these  men  go,  they  '11  not  return." 

Gary  laid  down  the  letter.  "If  these  men  go,  they'll  not 
return.  Is  Lewis  Rand  so  fixed  in  Albemarle?" 

He  moved  from  the  desk  to  an  old  chess  table  and,  sitting 
down,  began  to  move  the  pieces  this  way  and  that.  "  The  nine 
teenth  of  February  —  the  nineteenth  of  February."  He  saw 
again  a  firelit  room,  and  heard  the  tapping  of  maple  boughs 
against  a  window.  There  she  sat  in  her  dress  of  festive  white, 
listening  to  a  denunciation  of  Aaron  Burr  and  those  con 
cerned  with  him  —  and  all  the  time  the  man  beneath  her  roof! 
Gary  sighed  impatiently  and  moved  another  piece.  Adam 


THE  NINETEENTH   OF   FEBRUARY     275 

Gaudylock,  who  had  let  slip  that  he  had  been  there  as  well 
—  and  then  had  been  careful  to  let  slip  no  other  fact  of  value, 
except,  indeed,  the  fact  that  he  was  thus  careful !  Gary  cov 
ered  his  lips  with  his  hand  and  sat  staring  at  the  board.  The 
problem,  then,  was  to  construct  from  the  hunter's  character 
the  hunter's  part.  A  keen  trader,  scout,  and  enthusiast  of  the 
West,  known  to  and  knowing  the  men  of  those  parts,  and 
able  to  bend  the  undercurrents  —  a  delighter  in  danger,  with 
a  boy's  zest  for  intrigue,  risk,  and  daring — an  uncomplex 
mind,  little  troubled  by  theories  of  political  obligation, 
political  faith  and  unfaith,  loyalty  to  government  or  its  re 
verse  —  a  being  born  to  adventure,  but  to  adventure  under 
guidance,  skilled  and  gay  subaltern  to  some  graver,  abler 
leader  —  that,  he  thought,  would  be  Adam  Gaudylock.  An 
old,  old  friend  of  Lewis  Rand's  —  "There's  a  connection 
somewhere  between  the  Gaudylocks  and  the  Rands." 

Gary  put  out  his  hand  and  moved  a  piece  with  suddenness. 
"Granted  the  connection,"  he  said  aloud.  His  eye  gleamed. 
"That  night  Rand  agreed  with  Burr.  Gaudylock  would  have 
been  there  to  give  information;  probably,  seeing  that  he  went 
West  immediately  afterwards,  to  receive  instructions.  But 
he  is  an  asset  of  Lewis  Rand's,  not  of  Burr's." 

His  hand  touched  the  piece  again.  "An  asset  of  Lewis 
Rand's  —  Rand  and  Burr  —  Rand  and  Burr.  What  was 
it  that  they  plotted  that  night  while  she  talked  to  me  of  the 
new  song  she  had  learned  ?  An  expedition  against  Mexico, 
an  attack  upon  the  dominions  of  the  King  of  Spain  with 
whom  we  are  at  peace  ?  Or  a  revolution  in  the  country  west 
of  the  Ohio  ?  The  one's  a  misdemeanour;  the  other's  trea 
son."  He  moved  a  rook.  "Most  like  't  was  both  —  the  first 
to  mask  the  second.  The  boldest,  simplest,  most  compre 
hensive  stroke;  there,  there  would  show  the  mind  of  Lewis 
Rand!" 


276  LEWIS   RAND 

He  rose  and  paced  the  long,  cool  room,  then  came  back 
to  the  chess  table.  "They  parted.  Burr  to  the  North,  as  I 
found  the  next  morning;  this  trader,  as  he  says,  back  to  the 
West;  Lewis  Rand  quiet  in  Richmond,  quiet  here  in  Albe- 
marle.  Quiet!  That  speech  of  his  --  those  letters  in  the 
Enquirer.  How  long  has  he  been  breaking  with  Mr. 
Jefferson  ?  That  journey,  too,  to  Philadelphia  —  whom  did 
he  see  there?  Swartwout,  Bollman,  perhaps  Burr  himself? 
Home  he  comes  to  Albemarle  and  begins  improving  Rose- 
lands.  Cases  too,  in  court,  and  a  queue  of  waiting  clients, 
and  Richmond  to  return  to  in  November.  Granted  there's 
a  strange  emigration  West;  but  Lewis  Rand  —  Lewis  Rand 's 
as  fixed  in  Virginia  as  are  the  Churchills  and  the  Carys!" 

He  slowly  lifted  and  as  slowly  moved  a  queen.  "And  what 
other  course,  from  time  out  of  mind,  does  the  disloyal  pursue  ? 
A  mask  —  all  a  mask.  He,  too,  is  for  the  West.  He  goes  to 
join  Burr;  goes,  if  his  fate  stands  true,  to  supplant  Burr. 
Matters  draw  to  a  point,  and  he  has  little  time  to  spare! 
Say  that  he  goes "  -  A  movement  of  his  arm,  involuntary 
and  sharp,  jarred  the  table  and  disarranged  the  board.  "Will 
he  go  alone  ? " 

Gary  rose  and  walked  the  floor.  "  I  must  know  —  I  must 
know."  He  paused  at  a  western  window,  and  with  unseeing 
eyes  gazed  into  the  blue  distance.  "Were  he  Ludwell  Gary, 
would  he  fare  forth  on  his  adventure  alone  ?  Perhaps.  Be 
ing  Lewis  Rand,  will  he  go  without  her,  leave  her  behind  ? 
A  thousand  times,  no!  Even  now  this  daughter  of  Burr's 
is  hurrying  by  day  and  by  night  over  rough  and  over  smooth, 
to  join  her  father;  how  much  more,  then,  shall  lover  go 
with  lover,  the  faithful  wife  with  the  all-conquering  hus 
band  !  She  shall  be  there  to  buckle  on  our  armour,  to  heal 
us  with  her  kiss  when  the  long  day's  work  is  over ! "  He  bent 
his  brow  upon  his  arm.  "O  God,  O  God! " 


THE   NINETEENTH   OF   FEBRUARY     277 

From  the  hall  without  there  sounded  a  clear  whistle,  and 
Fairfax  Gary  appeared  in  the  library  door.  "Are  you  there, 
Ludwell  ?  It 's  all  dark  in  here  after  the  sun  outside.  I  am 
going  to  town." 

The  elder  brother  left  the  window.  "Wait  a  little,  Fair. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Do  you  remember  the  night  of  the 
nineteenth  of  February  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  other.  "It  had  been  snowing,  and  then 
it  cleared  brilliantly.  I  went  to  the  Mayos,  and  I  stopped  by 
Bowler's  Tavern.  It  was  the  night  that  Aaron  Burr  slept  in 
Richmond.  I  told  you,  you  know,  that  he  was  supping  out." 

"Yes.    With  Lewis  Rand." 

There  was  a  silence,  then,  "So!"  exclaimed  Fairfax  Gary, 
with  a  long  whistle. 

"You  are  not  surprised?" 

"No.    It  explains." 

"Yes,"  assented  the  other  sombrely,  "it  explains.  Fair, 
I  want  to  find  out  when  Adam  Gaudylock  goes  West." 

"Gaudylock!"  cried  the  other;  then  after  a  moment, 
"Well,  I  'm  not  surprised  at  that,  either.  I  can  tell  you  now 
when  he's  going.  In  two  weeks'  time." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Unity  sent  a  message  about  some  work  or  other  to  Tom 
Mocket's  sister  Vinie.  I  gave  the  message,  and  the  girl  fell 
to  talking  about  Adam.  She  was  wearing  a  Spanish  comb 
which  he  had  brought  her.  I  told  her  't  was  pretty,  and  she 
said  '  Yes  :  'twas  from  New  Orleans,  and  if  Miss  Unity  would 
like  one,  Mr.  Adam  was  going  there  again  in  two  weeks.' ' 

"Two  weeks!"  brooded  the  other.  "Fair,  would  you  not 
say  from  every  appearance  that  Lewis  Rand  is  as  fixed  in 
Albemarle  and  in  Virginia  as  you  or  I  or  any  honest  man  ? 
He  improves  Roselands;  he  has  an  important  case  coming 
on;  it  is  supposed  that  in  November  he  will  return  to  Rich- 


278  LEWIS   RAND 

mond.  I  happen  to  know  that  he  has  retaken  the  house  on 
Shockoe  Hill."  He  moved  restlessly.  "Why  should  I  dream 
that  he  is  preparing  a  moonlight  flitting  ?  dream  that  I  see 
him  in  the  gold  southwest,  treading  his  appointed  road,  tri 
umphant  there  as  here  ?  A  moonlight  flitting !  When  he 
goes,  he  '11  go  by  day  —  walk  forth  in  bronze  and  purple, 
unconcerned  and  confident,  high  and  bold  as  any  Caesar! 
From  what  egg  did  he  spring  that  he  can  play  the  traitor 
and  the  parricide  —  and  yet,  and  yet  the  rose  bend  to  his 
hand  ?  Does  it  look,  Fair,  as  though  he  were  in  marching 
order?" 

The  other  considered.  "Do  you  believe  that  he  is  going 
West  to  join  Burr  ? " 

"I  do.  And  yet  this  week  he  is  defending  a  case  in  court, 
and  there  are  others  coming  on.  He  is  busy,  too,  at  Rose- 
lands,  and  he  has  taken  the  Richmond  house.  I  am,  perhaps, 
a  suspicious,  envious,  and  vindictive  fool." 

"Roselands  and  the  Richmond  house  might  be  a  mask, 
He  refused  the  nomination  for  Governor." 

Ludwell  Gary  started  violently.  "I  had  forgotten  that! 
You  have  it,  Fair.  He  would  do  that  —  he  would  refuse 
the  nomination.  Lewis  Rand,  Lewis  Rand  !" 

"Have  you  any  proof  that  he  is  conspiring  with  Burr?" 

"  None  that  I  could  advance  —  none.  I  have  an  inward 
certainty,  that  is  all.  Nor  can  I  —  nor  can  I,  Fair,  even 
speak  of  such  a  suspicion.  You  see  that  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see  that." 

"I  repented  last  winter  of  having  written  that  letter  signed 
4  Aurelius.'  I  knew  nothing,  and  it  seemed  beneath  me  to  have 
made  that  guesswork  public.  That  he  was  my  enemy  should 
have  made  me  careful,  but  I  was  under  strong  feeling,  and 
I  wrote.  He  has  neither  forgotten  nor  forgiven.  Denounce 
him  now  as  a  conspirator  against  his  party  and  his  country  ? 


THE  NINETEENTH   OF  FEBRUARY     279 

That  is  impossible.  Impossible  from  lack  of  proof,  and 
impossible  to  me  were  proofs  as  thick  as  blackberries  !  But 
if  I  can  help  it,  he  shall  not  leave  Virginia." 

"Is  it  your  opinion  that  he  would  take  her  with  him  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"Would  she  go?" 

Gary  rose,  moved  to  the  window,  and  stood  there  a  moment 
in  silence.  When,  presently,  he  came  back  to  the  table,  his 
face  was  pale,  but  lifted,  controlled,  and  quiet.  There  was 
a  saying  in  the  county,  —  "The  high  look  of  the  Carys." 
He  wore  it  now,  the  high  look  of  the  Carys.  "Yes,  Fair, 
she  would  go  with  him." 

There  was  a  silence,  then  the  younger  spoke.  "She  is  at 
Fontenoy.  Mrs.  Churchill  may  linger  long,  and  her  niece 
is  always  with  her.  Rand  could  not  take  his  wife  away." 

"  It 's  a  check  to  his  plans,  no  doubt,"  said  the  other  wearily. 
"He's  frowning  over  it  now.  He'll  wait  as  long  as  maybe. 
He  would  sin,  but  he  would  not  sin  meanly.  In  his  concep 
tion  of  himself  a  greatness,  even  in  transgression,  must  clothe 
all  that  he  does.  He'll  wait,  gravely  and  decently,  even 
though  to  wait  is  his  heavy  risk."  He  made  a  gesture  with 
his  hand.  "Do  I  not  know  him,  know  him  well  ?  Sometimes 
I  think  that  for  three  years  I  've  had  no  other  study ! " 

"You  should  have  let  me  challenge  him  that  first  election 
day,"  said  Fairfax  Cary  gloomily.  "If  we  had  met  and  I  had 
put  a  bullet  through  him,  then  all  this  coil  would  have  been 
spared.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  now?" 

"At  the  moment  I  am  going  to  Fontenoy." 

"I  would  speak,  I  think,  to  Major  Edward." 

"Yes:  that  was  in  my  mind.  If  there  is  any  right,  it  lies 
with  the  men  of  her  family.  Fair,  on  the  nineteenth  of  Feb 
ruary  /  was  at  Lewis  Rand's!" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  his  brother. 


280  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  was  admitted,  as  I  have  since  come  to  see,  by  mistake, 
and  against  orders.  I  found  her  alone  in  her  drawing-room, 
and  we  sat  by  the  dying  fire  and  we  talked  of  this  very  thing, 
this  very  plot,  this  very  Aaron  Burr  —  yes,  and  of  the  part 
a  stronger  than  Burr  might  play  in  the  West  and  in  Mexico! 
She  told  me  that  her  husband  was  busy  that  night  —  ex 
cused  him  because  he  was  engaged  with  a  client  from  the 
country.  A  client  from  the  country !  and  I,  who  would  have 
taken  her  word  against  an  angel's,  I  sat  there  and  wondered 
why  she  was  distrait  and  pale !  She  was  pale  because  there 
was  danger,  she  was  absent  because  she  was  contriving  how 
she  might  soonest  rid  the  house  of  one  who  was  not  wanted 
there  that  night!  She  was  dressed  in  gauze  and  gems;  she 
had  supped  with  Aaron  Burr  —  " 

"I  see  — I  see!" 

"When  at  last  I  perceived,  though  I  could  not  guess  the 
reason,  that  she  wished  to  be  alone,  I  bade  her  good-night, 
and  she  watched  me  —  oh,  carefully !  —  through  the  hall  and 
past  the  other  doors  and  out  of  the  house.  I  came  home 
through  the  starlight  and  over  the  snow  to  the  Eagle.  I  found 
you  there  by  the  fire,  and  you  told  me  that  Aaron  Burr  was 
in  Richmond.  Then,  then,  Fair,  I  knew.  I  knew  with  whom 
Lewis  Rand  was  engaged,  I  knew  who  was  the  client  from 
the  country!  The  next  morning  I  made  my  inquiries.  Burr 
had  gone  at  dawn,  muffled  and  secret  and  swift — one  man 
to  see  him  off.  That  man,  I  learned  to-day,  was  Adam 
Gaudylock.  He,  too,  was  at  Rand's  the  night  before.  A 
triumvirate,  was  it  not  ?  Well,  she  knew,  she  knew —  and 
women,  too,  have  dreamed  of  crowns!" 

He  rose.  "  I  'm  going  to  ride  to  Fontenoy.  You  can  bear 
me  witness  that  I've  kept  away  since  her  return.  Now  I 
shall  keep  away  no  longer.  I  will  speak  to  Major  Edward. 
Her  family  may  draw  a  circle  out  of  which  she  may  not  step." 


THE  NINETEENTH   OF   FEBRUARY     281 

"There's  been,"  said  the  other,  "no  true  reconciliation. 
She's  only  at  Fontenoy  because  the  Churchills  could  not 
refuse  a  dying  woman.  They  speak  to  her  as  to  a  stranger 
to  whom,  as  gentlemen,  they  must  needs  be  courteous.  And 
she's  proud,  too.  Unity  says  they  are  far  apart." 

"I  know.  But  though  the  Churchill  men  are  stubborn, 
they  are  Virginians  and  they  are  patriots.  This  touches  their 
honour  and  the  honour  of  their  house.  If  Rand  plots  at  all, 
he's  plotting  treason.  How  much  does  she  know,  how  little 
does  she  not  know  ?  God  knows,  not  I !  But  they  may  make 
a  circle  she  cannot  overstep  —  no,  not  for  all  the  magician's 
piping!"  He  rested  his  forehead  upon  his  clasped  hands. 
"Fair,  Fair,  she  was  my  Destiny!  Why  did  he  come  like  a 
shape  of  night,  with  the  power  of  night  ?  And  now  he  draws 
her,  too,  into  the  shadow.  He's  treading  a  road  beset  — 
and  they  are  one  flesh;  she  travels  with  him.  Oh,  despair!" 

"Have  out  a  warrant  against  him." 

"What  proofs?  and  what  disgrace  if  proved!    No,  Fair, 


no." 


"Then  let  me  challenge  him." 

The  other  smiled.  "Should  it  come  to  that,  I  will  be  the 
challenger!  I  am  your  senior  there.  Don't  forget  it,  Fair." 
He  rose  from  the  table.  "Do  you  remember  that  first  day 
we  rode  to  Fontenoy  when  I  came  home  from  England  ? 
The  place  was  all  in  sunshine,  all  fine  gold.  She  was  stand 
ing  on  the  porch  beside  Major  Edward;  she  lifted  her  hand 
and  shaded  her  eyes  with  a  fan  —  there  was  a  flower  in  her 
hair.  Three  years!  I  am  worn  with  those  three  years." 
For  a  moment  he  rested  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"Fair,  Fair,  you  know  happy  love  —  may  you  never  know 
unhappy  love !  I  am  going  now  to  Fontenoy.  Is  there  a  mes 
sage  for  Unity  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    CEDAR   WOOD 

JACQUELINE  closed  the  door  of  her  aunt's  chamber 
softly  behind  her,  passed  through  the  Fontenoy  hall,  and 
came  out  upon  the  wide  porch.  There,  in  the  peace 
of  the  September  afternoon,  she  found  Unity  alone  with  the 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  "Aunt  Nancy  is  asleep,"  she  said. 
"I  leftMammyChloe  beside  her.  Unity,  I  think  she's  better." 
"So  the  doctor  said  this  morning." 
"  I  think  she 's  beginning  to  remember.    She  looks  strangely 


at  me." 


"  If  she  does  remember,  she  '11  want  you  still ! " 

Jacqueline  shook  her  head.  "I  think  not.  How  lovely 
it  is,  this  afternoon !  The  asters  are  all  in  bloom  in  the  gar 
den,  and  the  gum  tree  is  turning  red.'  She  threw  a  gauze 
scarf  over  her  head.  "I  am  going  down  to  the  old  gate  by 
the  narrow  road." 

"I  wish,"  said  Unity,  "that  I  had  the  ordering  of  the  uni 
verse  for  just  one  hour!  Then  Christians  would  become 
Christian,  and  you  would  n't  have  to  meet  your  husband 
outside  the  gates  of  home." 

The  other  laughed  a  little.  "Oh,  Unity,  Christians  won't 
be  Christian,  and  even  as  it  is,  't  is  sweet  to  be  at  home ! 
Until  you  go  away  to  Greenwood,  you  '11  not  know  how  dear 
was  Fontenoy!  To  hear  the  poplars  rustling  and  to  smell  the 
box  again —  Is  it  not  strange  that  I  should  have  a  light 
heart  when  they  look  so  cold  upon  me  ?" 

"I  have  hopes  of  Uncle  Dick,  but  Uncle  Edward"  — 
Unity  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  understand  Uncle  Edward." 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  283 

"I  do,"  answered  Jacqueline,  "and  I  love  him  most. 
I'll  go  now  and  leave  you  to  the  Last  Minstrel.  Does 
Fairfax  Gary  come  to-night  ? " 

"He  may  —  " 

Jacqueline  laughed.  "'He  may/  Yes,  indeed,  I  think  he 
may!  Oh,  Unity,  smell  the  roses,  and  look  at  the  light  upon 
the  mountains !  Good-bye !  I  'm  for  Lewis  now." 

She  passed  down  the  steps  and  through  the  garden  toward 
the  cedar  wood  which  led  to  the  old  gate  on  the  narrow 
road.  Unity  heard  her  singing  as  she  went.  The  voice  died 
in  the  distance.  A  door  opened,  Uncle  Edward's  step  was 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  his  voice,  harsh  and  strange,  came  out 
to  his  niece  upon  the  porch :  "Unity,  I  want  you  in  the  library 


a  moment." 


Jacqueline  kept  her  tryst  with  Rand  under  the  great  oak 
that  stood  without  the  old  gate,  on  land  that  was  not  the 
Churchills'.  It  was  their  custom  to  walk  a  little  way  into  the 
wood  that  lay  hard  by,  but  this  afternoon  the  narrow  road, 
grass-grown  and  seldom  used,  was  all  their  own.  They  sat 
upon  the  wayside,  beneath  the  tree,  and  Selim  grazed  beside 
them.  There  was  her  full  report  of  all  that  concerned  them 
both,  and  there  was  what  he  chose  to  tell  her.  They  talked 
of  Fontenoy,  and  then  of  Roselands  —  talked  freely  and  with 
clasped  hands.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder;  they  sat  in 
deep  accord,  bathed  by  the  golden  light  of  the  afternoon;  some 
times  they  were  silent  for  minutes  at  a  time,  while  the  light 
grew  fairer  on  the  hills.  When  an  hour  had  passed  they  rose 
and  kissed,  and  he  watched  her  across  the  road  and  through 
the  gate  into  the  circle  of  Fontenoy.  She  turned,  and  waited 
to  see  him  mount  Selim  and  ride  away.  He  spoke  from  the 
saddle,  "At  the  same  hour  to-morrow,"  and  she  answered, 
"The  same  hour."  Her  hands  were  clasped  upon  the  top 
most  bar  of  the  gate.  He  wheeled  Selim,  crossed  the  road, 


284  LEWIS   RAND 

half  swung  himself  from  the  saddle,  and  pressed  his  lips 
upon  them.  "Come  home  soon!"  he  said,  and  she  an 
swered,  "Soon." 

When  the  bend  of  the  road  had  hidden  horse  and  rider, 
she  left  the  gate  and  began  her  return  to  the  house.  Her  path 
lay  through  a  field,  through  the  cedar  wood,  and  through  the 
flower  garden.  In  the  field  beside  a  runlet  grew  masses  of 
purple  ironweed.  She  broke  a  stately  piece,  half  as  tall  as 
herself,  and  with  it  in  her  hand  left  the  autumn-coloured 
field  and  entered  the  little  wood  where  the  cedars  grew  dark 
and  close,  with  the  bare,  red  earth  beneath.  At  the  end  of 
the  aisle  of  trees  could  be  seen  the  bright-hued  garden  and 
a  fraction  of  blue  heaven.  Holding  the  branch  of  ironweed 
before  her,  Jacqueline  passed  through  the  wood  toward  the 
light  of  sky  and  flowers,  and  came  at  the  edge  of  the  open 
space  upon  a  large  old  tree,  twisted  like  one  of  those  which 
Dante  saw.  As  she  stepped  beneath  the  dark  and  spreading 
boughs  a  man,  leaving  the  sunlit  flower  garden  for  the  shadow 
of  the  cedars,  met  her  face  to  face.  "You!"  he  cried,  and 
stopped  short. 

The  branch  of  ironweed  dropped  from  her  hand.  "I  did 
not  know  that  you  were  at  Fontenoy.  I  have  not  seen 
you  this  long  while  —  except  for  that  moment  the  other 
night.  Is  it  not  —  is  it  not  the  loveliest  day  ? " 

"I  came  from  the  library  into  the  flower  garden  and  on  to 
this  wood  because  I  wished  to  think,  to  be  alone,  to  gain 
composure  before  I  returned  to  the  house  —  and  you  front 
me  like  a  spectre  in  the  dimness!  Once  before,  I  entered 
this  wood  from  the  flower  garden  —  and  it  was  dark,  dark 
as  it  is  to-day,  though  the  weather  was  June.  Nor  do  I, 
either,  count  the  other  night  when  I  came  to  Roselands  as 
Colonel  Churchill's  messenger.  It  has  been  long,  indeed, 
since  we  truly  met." 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  285 

"You  are  not  well,  Mr.  Caryl" 

"I  am  —  I  am,"  said  Cary.    "Give  me  a  moment." 

He  rested  his  arm  against  the  red  trunk  of  the  cedar  and 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Jacqueline  stood,  looking 
not  at  him  but  at  the  coloured  round  of  garden.  Her  heart 
was  fluttering,  she  knew  not  why.  The  moment  that  he  asked 
went  by  and,  dropping  his  arm,  he  turned  upon  her  a  face 
that  he  had  not  yet  schooled  to  calmness. 

"The  evening  of  the  nineteenth  of  February,"  he  said. 
"That  was  the  last  time  we  really  met.  Do  you  remember  ? " 

"Yes,  I  remember.    It  was  the  day  of  the  deep  snow." 

Cary  regarded  her  mutely;  then,  "Yes,  that  was  the  im 
portant  thing.  We  all  remember  it  because  of  the  snow.  You 
were  learning  a  new  song  that  you  promised  to  sing  to  me 
when  1  came  again.  But  I  never  heard  it  —  I  never  came 
again." 

"I  know.    Why  was  that?" 

"Do  you  ask?"  he  cried,  and  there  was  pain  and  anger 
in  his  voice.  "I  thought  it  not  of  you." 

The  crimson  surged  over  Jacqueline's  face  and  throat. 
She  bent  toward  him  impetuously,  with  a  quick  motion  of 
her  hands.  "Ah,  forgive  me!"  she  cried.  "I  know  —  I 
know.  I  was  told  of  the  quarrel  next  day  in  the  coffee  house. 
I--I  was  more  sorry  than  I  can  say.  I  understood.  You 
could  not,  after  that,  come  again  to  the  house.  Oh,  more  than 
almost  anything,  I  wish  that  you  and  Lewis  were  friends! 
It  is  wrong  to  try  to  make  you  think  that  that  evening  does 
not  live  in  my  memory.  It  does  —  it  does  ! " 

"I  am  willing  to  believe  as  much,"  he  returned,  with  a 
strange  dryness.  "I  know  that  you  remember  that  evening, 
but  I  hardly  think  it  altogether  on  my  account  —  " 

The  colour  faded  from  her  cheek.  "On  whose,  then? 
My  husband's?" 


286  LEWIS   RAND 

"And  your  guest's." 

"You  were  my  guest." 

"Oh,"  cried  Gary,  "I'll  not  have  it!  You  shall  not  so  per 
jure  yourself!  He  has  taken  much  from  me;  if  your  truth  is 
his  as  well,  then  indeed  he  has  taken  all !  I  know,  I  know 
who  was  the  guest  that  night,  the  man  with  whom  you  supped, 
the  'client  from  the  country/' 

She  gazed  at  him  with  large  eyes,  her  hand  upon  her  heart, 
then,  with  an  inarticulate  word  or  two,  she  moved  to  the 
gnarled  and  protruding  roots  of  the  cedar  and  took  her  seat 
there  facing  his  troubled  figure  and  indignant  eyes.  "Who 
was  the  guest,  —  the  client  from  the  country  ? " 

"Aaron  Burr." 

She  drew  a  difficult  breath.  "  How  long  have  you  known  ? " 

"Since  that  night.  No  —  do  not  be  distressed!  I  learned 
it  not  from  you,  —  you  kept  faithful  guard.  But  when  I 
left  you,  within  the  hour  I  knew  it." 

"And  —  and  if  he  were  there,  what  harm  ? " 

Gary  regarded  her  in  silence;  then,  "The  letter  that  I  read 
you  that  night  from  your  uncle,  from  one  of  the  heads  of  your 
house,  from  a  patriot  and  a  man  of  stainless  honour,  that 
letter  was,  I  think,  sufficiently  explicit !  There  was  the  harm. 
But  Major  Churchill's  opinion,  too,  is  perhaps  forgot." 

"No,"  cried  Jacqueline,  "no;  you  do  not  understand! 
Listen  to  me ! "  She  rose,  drawing  herself  to  her  full  height, 
the  red  again  in  her  cheek,  her  eyes  dark  and  bright.  "I  am 
going  to  tell  you  the  truth  of  this  matter.  Are  you  not  my 
friend,  whose  opinion  I  value  for  me  and  mine  ?  You  are 
a  true  and  honourable  gentleman  —  I  speak  with  no  fear 
that  what  I  say  will  ever  pass  beyond  this  wood!  Uncle 
Edward's  letter!  You  think  that  what  was  said  in  Uncle 
Edward's  letter  —  ay,  and  what  you,  too,  said  in  comment 
—  was  already  known  to  me  that  night !  Well,  it  was  not. 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  287 

Oh,  it  is  true  that  Colonel  Burr  had  supped  with  us,  and  it 
is  also  true  that  I  was  most  heartily  sorry  for  it!  At  table, 
while  he  talked,  I  saw  only  that  green  field  so  far  away,  and 
General  Hamilton  bleeding  to  his  death,  —  yes,  and  I  thought, 
'Oh  me,  what  would  they  say  to  me  at  Fontenoy?'  But  I 
knew  no  worse  of  Colonel  Burr  than  that  one  deed,  and  I 
bore  myself  toward  him  as  any  woman  must  toward  her  hus 
band's  guest!  I  am  telling  you  all.  He  was  Lewis's  guest, 
Lewis's  correspondent,  and  this  was  an  arranged  meeting. 
I  knew  that  and  I  knew  no  more.  After  supper  they  talked 
together,  and  I  sat  alone  by  the  fire  in  the  empty  drawing- 
room.  I  was  bidden  —  yes,  I  will  tell  you  this !  —  I  was  bid 
den  to  keep  all  visitors  out,  since  it  must  not  be  known  that 
Colonel  Burr  was  then  in  Richmond !  You  came,  and  by  mis 
take  you  were  admitted.  I  was  lonely  at  heart  and  hungry 
for  news  from  home,  I  let  you  stay,  and  you  read  to  me 
what  my  uncle  had  to  say  of  the  man  who  was  at  that  instant 
beneath  my  roof,  engaged  in  talk  with  my  husband !  You 
read,  and  then  you, too, took  up  the  tale!  'Traitor  —  treason. 
...  A  man  whom,  had  you  the  power,  you  would  arrest  at 
once.  .  .  .  False  to  his  honour,  false  to  his  country.  .  .  .  Trai 
tor  and  maker  of  traitors.  .  .  .  And  where  is  your  husband 
to-night  ? '  Well,  I  did  not  choose  to  tell  you  where  was  my 
husband  that  night  —  and,  since  I  was  frightened,  and  cold 
at  heart,  and  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  —  and  was  fright 
ened,  I  lied  to  you !  But  as  for  that  which  I  now  see  that 
you  have  thought  of  me  —  you  are  much  mistaken  there ! 
Until  you  read  me  Uncle  Edward's  letter,  I  did  not  know 
what  men  said  of  Aaron  Burr!" 

"I  wronged  you,"  said  Cary,  with  emotion.  "I  doubted 
you,  and  I  have  been  most  wretched  in  the  doubting.  For 
give  me ! " 

"You  wronged  me,  yes!"  she  cried.    "But  am  I  the  only 


288  LEWIS   RAND 

one  you  've  wronged  ?  Oh,  I  see,  I  see  what  since  that  night 
you  have  thought  of  Lewis !  It  was  the  next  day  that  you 
quarrelled  in  the  coffee  house !  Oh,  all  these  months,  have 
you  been  mistrusting  Lewis  Rand,  believing  him  concerned 
with  that  man,  suspecting  him  of — of  —  of  treason?  There, 
too,  you  are  mistaken.  Listen!" 

She  came  closer  to  him,  all  colour,  light,  and  fire  against 
the  dark. cedars.  "I  am  going  to  tell  you.  You  are  generous, 
open-minded,  candid,  fair  —  you  will  understand,  and  you 
will  know  him  better,  and  you  and  he  may  yet  be  friends !  I 
have  that  at  heart  —  you  would  hardly  believe  how  much 
I  have  that  at  heart.  Have  you  been  dreaming  of  Lewis  Rand 
as  the  aider  and  abetter  of  Colonel  Burr's  designs,  whatever 
they  may  be!  as  a  conspirator  with  him  against  the  peace  of 
the  country,  against  Virginia,  against  the  Republic  ?  You 
have,  you  have,  —  I  read  it  in  your  face !  Well,  you  are  wrong. 
Oh,  I  will  tell  you  the  clean  truth  !  He  was  tempted  —  he  saw 
below  him  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  —  and  oh,  remember 
that  around  him  are  not  the  friendly  arms,  the  old  things, 
the  counsel  of  the  past,  the  watchword  in  the  blood,  the  voice 
that  cries  to  you  or  to  my  uncles  and  so  surely  points  to  you 
the  road!  I  will  tell  the  whole  truth.  I  will  not  say  that  his 
mind  sees  always  by  the  light  by  which  we  rest.  He  has 
come  another  way  and  through  another  world.  How  should 
he  think  our  thoughts,  see  just  with  our  eyes  ?  He  has  come 
through  night  and  hurrying  clouds;  his  way  has  been  steep, 
and  there  are  stains  upon  his  nature.  I  that  love  him  will  not 
deny  them  !  He  was  tempted  as  Ludwell  Gary  would  not  have 
been.  Oh,  perhaps  if  I  had  not  been  there,  he  would  have 
made  his  compact.  But  I  was  there!  and  I  besought  him  — 
and  that  night  he  swore  to  me  - 

Gary  threw  out  his  arm  with  a  cry.    "  Stop,  stop  !    I  take 
God  to  witness  that  I  never  thought  of  this ! " 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  289 

She  went  on,  unheeding.  "He  swore  to  me  that  whatever 
in  that  world  of  his  he  had  thought  of  Aaron  Burr  and  of 
his  projects,  however  keenly  he  had  seen  the  dazzling  fortune 
that  lay  in  that  western  country,  yet,  as  I  had  left  my  world 
for  his,  so  would  he  leave  that  night,  in  this,  his  world  for 
mine !  And  he  did  so  —  he  did  so  that  night  before  the 
dawn!" 

She  raised  her  hand  to  her  eyes  and  dashed  away  the  bright 
drops.  "You  have  done  an  injustice.  All  this  time  you 
have  thought  him  what  that  night  you  called  Aaron  Burr.  I 
know  not  where  Colonel  Burr  is  now,  but  since  the  night  of 
the  nineteenth  of  February,  he  and  my  husband  have  had 
no  dealings." 

"My  God!"  said  Cary,  in  a  low  voice;  then,  "This  is  all 
your  assurance  ?" 

"All?"  she  echoed  proudly.    "It  is  enough." 

He  turned  away  and,  walking  to  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
stood  there,  striving  for  some  measure  of  self-command.  His 
hands  opened  and  shut.  Lewis  Rand  was  a  perjured  traitor, 
and  it  only  remained  to  tell  Jacqueline  as  much. 

The  garden  swam  before  his  eyes,  then  the  mist  passed  and 
he  saw  with  distinctness.  There  was  a  path  before  him  that 
led  away  between  walls  of  box  to  the  green  and  flowery  heart 
of  the  place,  and  at  the  heart  was  a  summer-house.  He  saw  it 
all  again.  There  was  the  morning  in  June,  there  was  the  blow 
ing  rose,  there  was  the  sudden  vision  —  Rand  and  Jacque 
line,  hand  in  hand,  with  mingled  breath!  It  was  into  this 
path  that  he  had  turned  —  it  was  to  this  wood  that  he  had 
stumbled,  leaving  them  there.  He  felt  again  the  icy  shock, 
the  death  and  wormwood  in  his  soul.  They  had  had  the 
gold,  they  had  loved  and  embraced  while,  with  his  face  to 
the  earth,  he  h>d  lain  there  beneath  that  tree  where  now  she 
stood.  Well,  Time's  globe  was  turning  —  there  were  shadows 


2go  LEWIS   RAND 

now  for  the  lovers'  country !  Their  land,  too,  would  have  its 
night;  perhaps  an  endless  night.  He  entertained  the  fierce, 
triumphant  thought,  but  not  for  long.  He  had  loved  Jacque 
line  Churchill  truly,  and  her  happiness  was  more  to  him 
than  his  own.  When,  presently,  he  reached  the  consideration 
of  her  in  that  darkened  country,  moving  forever  over  ash 
and  cinder  beneath  an  empty,  leaden  heaven,  he  found  the 
contemplation  intolerable.  A  tenderness  crept  into  his  heart, 
divine  enough  as  things  go  in  the  heart  of  man.  The  summer- 
house  mocked  him  still,  and  the  image  of  Rand  walked  with 
armed  foot  through  every  chamber  of  his  brain,  but  he  wished 
no  worse  for  Jacqueline  than  unending  light  and  love.  After 
the  first  red  moment,  it  was  not  possible  to  him  to  put  out 
one  lamp,  to  break  one  flower,  in  her  paradise.  It  hung  like 
a  garden  in  Babylon  over  the  dust  and  sorrow  of  the  common 
way,  over  the  gulf  of  broken  gods  and  rent  illusions.  To  jar 
that  rainbow  tenure  by  the  raising  of  his  voice,  to  bring  that 
phantom  bliss  whirling  down  to  the  trodden  street,  lay  not 
within  the  quality  of  the  man.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  fought 
with  the  memory  of  that  June  morning  when  he  and  Colonel 
Churchill  had  come  upon  the  summer-house;  fought  with 
that  and  with  a  hundred  memories  besides,  then  looked  again, 
and  quietly,  at  the  autumn  place,  bright  with  late  flowers  and 
breathed  over  by  the  haunting  fragrance  of  the  box.  Another 
moment  and  he  turned  back  to  the  wood  and  the  great  tree. 
Jacqueline  sat  beneath  the  cedar,  the  branch  of  ironweed 
again  within  her  hand.  She  had  found  it  natural  that  Lud- 
well  Cary  should  turn  away.  It  was  not  easy  to  struggle 
against  a  misconception,  to  re-marshal  facts  and  revise 
judgments  —  often  it  was  hard.  She  waited  quietly,  finger 
ing  the  tufts  of  purple  bloom,  her  eyes  upon  the  clear  sky 
between  the  cedar  boughs.  When  at  last  shexheard  his  step 
and  looked  up,  it  was  with  an  exquisite  kindness  in  her  large, 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  291 

dark  eyes.  "It  was  a  natural  mistake,"  she  said.  "Do  not 
think  that  I  blame  you.  It  is  hard  to  believe  in  good  when 
we  think  we  see  evil." 

"I  am  thankful,"  he  answered,  "that  you  are  back  in  your 
shrine.  Forgive  me  my  error." 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly.  "  But  concerning  Lewis  — 
there,  too,  was  error.  Why  should  you  continue  enemies  ? " 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Gary  spoke,  sadly  and  bitterly. 
"You  must  leave  me  that.  There  are  men  who  are  born  to 
be  antagonists.  When  that  is  so,  they  find  each  other  out 
over  half  the  world,  and  circumstance  may  be  trusted  to 
square  for  them  a  battle-ground.  Mr.  Rand  and  I,  I  fear, 
will  still  be  enemies." 

"Then  what  I  have  told  you  makes  no  difference — " 

"You  are  mistaken  there.  What  you  have  told  me  shall 
have  its  weight." 

"Why,  then,"  cried  Jacqueline,  "you  cannot  judge  him  as 
you  have  been  judging  throughout  a  spring  and  summer! 
You  are  just  and  generous  —  will  you  not  try  to  be  friends  ? 
Ere  this  men  have  left  off  being  foes,  and  many  and  many 
a  battlefield  is  now  thick  with  wild  flowers.  I  should  be 
happy  if  you  and  Lewis  would  clasp  hands." 

Her  voice  was  persuasion's  own,  and  there  was  a  tremu 
lous  smile  upon  her  red  lips,  and  a  soft  light  in  her  dark  eyes. 
"There  is  a  thing  that  I  have  long  divined,"  she  said,  "and 
that  is  the  strange  regard  for  what  you  think  and  what  you 
are  that  exists  deep,  deep  down  in  his  mind.  It  lies  so  deep 
that  he  is  mainly  ignorant  that  it  is  there.  He  thinks  that  you 
and  he  are  all  inimical.  But  it  is  there  like  an  ancient  treasure 
far  down  in  the  ocean  depths,  far  below  the  surface  storm. 
There  is  in  him  a  preoccupation  with  you.  Often  and  often, 
when  questions  of  right  and  wrong  arise,  I  know  that  his 
thought  descends  to  that  secret  place  where  he  keeps  an 


292  LEWIS   RAND 

image  of  you!  I  know  that  he  interrogates  that  image,  'Is 
it  thus  or  so  that  you  would  do  ? '  And  if,  at  times,  scorn 
fully  or  sullenly  or  with  indifference,  he  does  the  opposite  to 
what  the  image  says,  yet  none  the  less  at  the  next  decision 
will  his  thought  fly  to  that  same  judgment  bar!  It  is  an 
attraction  that  he  fights  against,  a  habit  of  the  mind  that 
he  would  break  if  he  could  —  but  it  is  there  —  indeed,  in 
deed  it  is  there !  It  is  despotic  —  I  do  not  think  that  he  can 
escape.  Ah,  if  you  and  he  were  friends,  you  would  be  friends 
indeed ! "  She  looked  at  him  pleadingly,  with  her  hand  out 
stretched. 

Gary  shook  his  head.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said  harshly. 
"I  am  conscious  of  no  place  where  my  spirit  and  that  of 
Mr.  Rand  may  touch.  I  cannot  explain;  we  are  enemies: 
you  must  let  us  fight  it  out." 

"Does  it  so  much  matter  that  you  are  Federalist  and  he 
Republican?" 

"It  matters  very  little." 

"Or  that  you  are  a  Gary,  with  all  that  that  means,  while 
he  is  Lewis  Rand  from  the  Three-Notched  Road  ? " 

"That  matters  not  at  all." 

"Or  that  you  are  rival  lawyers?  Or  that  in  politics  he 
has  defeated  you  ?  Or  —  Oh,  my  friend,  now  /  am  dealing 
unjustly !  Forgive  me  —  forgive  me  and  make  friends ! " 

"Would  he,"  asked  Gary  sombrely  —  "would  he  agree? 
I  think  not.  I  am  sure  not.  I  think  rather  that  he  cherishes 
this  enmity,  feeds  it,  and  fans  it.  Our  lines  in  life  have  crossed, 
and  now  there  is  no  force  can  lay  them  parallel.  The  sun  is 
sinking,  and  I  must  see  Major  Edward  again." 

She  rose  from  her  seat  beneath  the  cedar.  "  I'll  hope  on," 
she  said.  "Some  day,  if  we  live  long  enough,  all  clouds  will 
break.  Time  withstands  even  the  stony  heart." 

"Do  you  think,"  he  demanded,  "that  mine  is  a  stony 


THE   CEDAR   WOOD  293 

heart  ?  Well,  be  it  so,  since  this  is  a  game  of  misunderstand 
ing  !  I  will  say  this.  If  I  could  come,  the  next  nineteenth  of 
February,  to  your  house  on  Shockoe  Hill,  and  find  him 
there,  and  find  you  happy  with  him  there,  then,  then  I 
think  I  would  clasp  hands — " 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  "do  not  wait  until  February!  We  shall 
be  there  on  Shockoe  Hill  in  November." 

He  stooped  and  lifted  her  branch  of  ironweed.  "You  are 
sure?" 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered.  "The  house  has  been  re 
taken.  We  go  to  Richmond  as  soon  as  Lewis  comes  back 
from  over  the  mountains." 

"From—" 

"He  has  bought  land  in  the  western  part  of  the  state.  He 
is  going  on  a  journey  soon  to  examine  it." 

'  Toward  the  Ohio  ?  " 

"Yes;  toward  the  Ohio.    How  did  you  know?" 

"And  you  —  you  will  not  go  with  him  ?" 

"He  has  talked  of  my  going.  But  I  cannot  now  that  my 
aunt  is  ill." 

"Perhaps  he  will  wait?" 

"Yes;  he  says  that  he  will.  How  pale  you  are!  I  am  sure 
you  are  not  well  ?" 

They  had  stepped  from  out  the  wood  into  the  light  of 
the  garden.  She  looked  at  him  with  concern,  but  he  dismissed 
her  question  with  a  gesture  of  his  hand  and  a  laugh  that 
sounded  strangely  in  her  ears.  "It  is,"  he  said,  "the  fading 
light.  Are  you  going  in  now  ? " 

"Not  yet.  Daphne  is  ill  at  the  quarter,  and  I'll  walk 
down  to  her  cabin  first.  Do  you  stay  to  supper  ? " 

"No,  not  to-night.  But  I  wish  to  see  Major  Edward  again. 
If  you  '11  allow  me,  I  will  go  on  to  the  library." 

"Certainly,"  answered  Jacqueline,  and,  when  he  had  kissed 


294  LEWIS   RAND 

her  hand  and  said  good-bye,  watched  him  across  the  flower 
garden  and  up  the  steps  that  led  to  the  glass  doors.  He  passed 
into  the  room,  out  of  her  sight,  but  she  still  stood  there  among 
the  asters  and  the  box.  His  look  was  strange,  she  thought, 
and  her  hand  had  been  crushed,  rather  than  held,  to  his  lips. 
She  drew  her  scarf  about  her;  the  September  evening  was 
falling  chill.  The  sunset  light  struck  full  upon  the  glass  doors. 
She  wondered  why,  for  the  second  time  in  an  afternoon, 
Ludwell  Gary  wished  to  see  Uncle  Edward,  there  in  the 
library.  Only  once  or  twice,  in  the  fortnight  that  she  had 
been  at  Fontenoy,  had  she  entered  the  library,  and  it  was 
the  room  of  all  others  that  she  loved.  She  thought  now  of 
the  old  green  chair  and  of  her  father's  portrait,  and  of  every 
loved  and  dreamed-of  detail,  and  she  felt  shut  out  in  the  dusk 
and  chill.  A  sensation  of  strangeness  crept  over  her.  She 
thought,  "If  I  were  dead  and  trying  to  make  the  living  hear, 
I  should  feel  this  way.  And  they  would  not  even  try  to  hear; 
they  would  shut  the  door  and  keep  me  out,  all  alone  in  the 
dark." 

She  stood  for  a  full  minute  staring  at  the  panes  and  the 
red  reflected  glare  of  the  sun,  then  drew  the  scarf  closer  over 
her  head,  and  took  the  path  that  led  to  the  quarter. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MAJOR   EDWARD 

RAND  rose  from  the  supper-table  and  led  the  way 
into  the  dim,  high-ceilinged  room  that  served  him 
as  study  and  library.  "Bring  the  candles,"  he  said 
over  his  shoulder,  and  Tom  Mocket  obediently  took  up  the 
heavy  candelabra.  With  the  clustered  lights  illuminating 
freckled  face  and  sandy  hair,  he  followed  his  chief.  "Don't 
you  want  me  to  start  the  fire  ?"  he  asked.  "These  October 
nights  are  mortal  cold." 

"Yes,"  answered  Rand.  "Put  a  light  to  it  and  make  the 
room  bright.  Fire  is  like  a  woman's  presence." 

As  he  spoke,  he  walked  to  the  windows  and  drew  the  cur 
tains,  then  took  from  his  desk  a  number  of  papers  and  began 
to  lay  them  in  an  orderly  row  upon  the  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  "Mrs.  Churchill  is  quite  out  of  danger.  My  wife 
returns  to  Roselands  to-morrow." 

"That's  fortunate,"  quoth  Mocket,  on  his  knees  before 
the  great  fireplace.  "You  always  did  cut  things  mighty  close, 
Lewis,  and  I  must  say  you  are  cutting  this  one  close !  Adam, 
he  goes  along  from  day  to  day  laughing  and  singing,  with  a 
face  as  smooth  as  an  egg,  but  I  '11  warrant  he 's  watching  the 
sun,  the  clock,  and  the  hourglass!" 

"I  know  —  I  know,"  said  Rand.  "The  sun  is  travelling, 
and  the  clock  is  striking,  and  the  sands  are  running.  This 
was  a  cursed  check,  this  illness  at  Fontenoy.  But  for  it  I 
should  be  now  upon  the  Ohio."  He  left  the  table  and  began 
to  pace  the  room,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  "Two 
weeks  from  here  to  this  island  —  then  eight  weeks  for  that 


296  LEWIS   RAND 

twelve  hundred  miles  of  river,  and  to  gather  men  from  New 
Madrid  and  Baton  Rouge  and  Bayou  Pierre.  October, 
November,  December.  Say  New  Orleans  by  the  New  Year. 
There  will  be  some  seizing  there,  —  the  banks,  the  shipping. 
If  the  army  joins  us,  all  will  be  well.  But  there,  Tom,  there ! 
there  is  the  'if  in  this  project!" 

"  But  you  are  sure  of  General  Wilkinson ! " 
Rand  paused  to  take  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  "  Burr  is.  I 
have  this  to-day  from  him  in  cipher.  Listen!"  He  unfolded 
the  paper,  brought  it  into  the  firelight,  and  began  to  read  in 
a  clear,  low  voice.  "  *  Burr  has  written  to  Wilkinson  in  sub 
stance  as  follows :  Funds  are  obtained  and  operations  com 
menced.  The  eastern  detachment  will  rendezvous  on  the 
Ohio  the  first  of  November.  Everything  internal  and  external 
favours  our  views.  The  naval  protection  of  England  is  se 
cured.  Final  orders  are  given  to  my  friends  and  followers. 
It  will  be  a  host  of  choice  spirits.  Burr  proceeds  westward 
never  to  return.  With  him  go  his  daughter  and  grandson. 
Our  project,  my  dear  friend,  is  brought  to  a  point  so  long 
desired.  Burr  guarantees  the  result  with  his  life  and  honour, 
with  the  lives  and  honour  and  fortune  of  hundreds,  the  best 
blood  of  our  country.  Burr's  plan  of  operation  is  to  move 
down  rapidly  from  the  falls  on  the  fifteenth  of  November, 
with  the  first  five  hundred  or  one  thousand  men,  in  light  boats, 
now  constructing  for  that  purpose,  to  be  at  Natchez  between 
the  fifth  and  fifteenth  of  December,  there  to  meet  Wilkinson, 
there  to  determine  whether  it  will  be  expedient  in  the  first  in 
stance  to  seize  on,  or  pass  by,  Baton  Rouge.  The  people  of  the 
country  to  which  we  are  going  are  prepared  to  receive  us; 
their  agents,  now  with  Burr,  say  that  if  we  will  protect  their 
religion,  and  will  not  subject  them  to  a  foreign  power,  then  in 
three  weeks  all  will  be  settled.  The  gods  invite  us  to  glory  and 
fortune;  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  we  deserve  the  boon.' " 


MAJOR   EDWARD  297 

Rand  ceased  to  read  and  refolded  the  paper.  "So  Colonel 
Burr,  with  more  to  the  same  effect.  If  he  writes  thus  to  Gen 
eral  Wilkinson,  he  is  undoubtedly  very  sure  of  that  gentleman 
and  of  the  army  which  he  commands.  I  am  not  of  as  confident 
a  temper,  and  I  am  sure  of  no  one  save  Lewis  Rand." 

The  other  blew  the  flames  beneath  the  pine  knots. 
"There's  Gaudylock." 

"I  except  Gaudylock." 

Tom  rose  from  the  brick  hearth  and  dusted  his  knees. 
"And  there's  me." 

Rand  smiled  down  upon  his  old  lieutenant.  "Ah,  yes, 
there 's  you,  Tom,  —  you  and  Vinie !  Well,  if  we  are  fortu 
nate,  you  shall  come  to  me  in  the  spring.  By  then  we  '11  know 
if  we  are  conquerors  and  founders  of  empire,  or  if  we 're  sim 
ply  to  be  hanged  as  traitors.  If  the  fairer  lot  is  ours,  you 
shall  have  your  island,  my  good  old  Panza ! " 

"And  if  it's  the  other  ?""  demanded  Tom,  with  a  wry 
face. 

Rand  gave  his  characteristic  short  laugh.  "It  shall  not 
be  the  other.  The  hemp  is  not  planted  that  shall  trouble  us. 
There  are  no  more  astrologers  now  that  we  are  grown  wise,  — 
and  still  a  man  trusts  in  his  star!  I  trust  in  mine.  Well,  next 
week  you'll  open  the  office  as  usual,  and  to  all  that  come 
you  '11  state  that  I  've  gone,  between  courts,  to  look  at  a  pur 
chase  of  land  in  Wood  County.  I  '11  bring  that  forgery  case 
to  an  end  day  after  to-morrow,  and  by  Monday  Adam  and 
I  will  be  out  of  Albemarle." 

Mocket  drew  a  long  breath.  "Monday!  That's  soon,  but 
the  sooner,  I  reckon,  the  better.  Sometimes  just  any  delay  is 
fatal.  For  all  his  singing,  I  know  that  Adam  is  anxious  — 
and  he 's  weatherwise,  is  Adam !  There 's  something  in  the 
air.  The  papers  have  begun  to  talk,  and  everywhere  you  turn 
there's  the  same  damned  curiosity  about  Aaron  Burr  and 


298  LEWIS   RAND 

New  Orleans  and  Mexico  and  the  Washita  lands !  Moreover, 
when  a  man 's  as  quiet  as  Mr.  Jefferson  is  just  now,  I  suspect 
that  man.  Best  to  get  quite  out  of  reach  of  a  countermine. 
You've  gone  too  far  not  to  go  a  deal  farther." 

"Just  so,"  agreed  the  other.  "Many  and  many  a  league 
farther.  Now,  this  paper  of  directions.  I'll  go  over  it  care 
fully  with  you,  and  then  I  '11  burn  it.  First,  as  to  Roselands, 
the  stock,  and  the  servants.  Joab  and  Isham  go  with  us, 
starting  on  horseback  an  hour  behind  the  chaise." 

"You  take  no  maid  for  Mrs.  Rand  ?" 

"It  cannot  be  managed.  When  we  reach  this  island,  I  can 
doubtless  purchase  a  woman  from  Mr.  Blennerhassett." 

"Mrs.  Rand  does  not  know  yet,  does  she,  Lewis  ?" 

"She  does  not  know.  She  will  not  know  until  we  are  over 
the  mountains  and  return  is  impossible."  He  turned  from  the 
fire,  walked  the  room  again,  and  spoke  on  as  to  himself. 
"When  I  tell  her,  there  will  be  my  first  battle,  and  the  one 
battle  that  I  dread !  But  I  '11  win  it,  —  I  '11  win  because  I 
must  win.  She  will  suffer  at  first,  but  I  will  make  her  forget, 
—  I  will  love  her  so  that  I  will  make  her  forget.  If  all  goes 
well  and  greatness  is  in  our  horoscope,  she  shall  yet  be  friends 
with  the  crown  upon  her  brow!  Yes,  and  gracious  friends 
with  all  that  she  has  left  behind,  and  with  her  Virginian  kin 
dred  !  When  all 's  won,  and  all 's  at  peace,  and  the  clash  and 
marvel  an  old  tale,  then  shall  her  sister  and  her  cousin  visit 
her." 

He  paused  at  the  fireplace  and  stirred  the  logs  with  his  foot. 
"  But  that 's  a  vision  of  the  morrow.  Between  now  and  then, 
and  here  and  there,  it  never  fails  that  there's  an  ambushed 
road."  He  stood  a  moment,  staring  at  the  leaping  flames, 
then  returned  to  the  table.  "  Back  to  business,  Tom  !  When 
Roselands  is  sold — " 

"Do  you  know,"  suggested  Tom,  "I've  been  thinking 


MAJOR  EDWARD  299 

that,  now  he  is  going  to  be  married,  a  purchaser  might  be 
found  in  Fairfax  Gary." 

"Fairfax  Caryl "  exclaimed  the  other,  and  drummed  upon 
the  table.  "No;  they  will  not  want  it,  those  two.  Poor  old 
Tom !  your  intuitions  are  not  very  fine,  are  they  ? " 

"Well,  I  just  thought  he  might,"  said  the  underling.  "But 
he  may  live  on  at  Greenwood  with  Ludwell  Gary." 

Rand  struck  his  foot  against  the  floor.  "Don't  let  us  speak 
that  name  to-night !  I  am  weary  of  it.  It  haunts  me  like  a 
bell  —  Ludwell  Gary!  Ludwell  Gary!  And  why  it  should 
haunt  me,  and  why  the  thought  of  him  always,  for  one  mo 
ment,  palsies  my  will  and  my  arm,  I  know  no  more  than  you ! 
When  I  shake  the  dust  of  this  county  from  my  feet,  it  shall  go 
hard  but  I  will  shake  this  obsession  from  my  soul!  Some 
where,  when  this  world  was  but  a  fiery  cloud,  all  the  particles 
of  our  being  were  whirled  into  collision.  Well,  enough  of 
that !  Whoever  purchases  Roselands,  it  will  not  be  a  Gary. 
What 's  the  matter  now  ? " 

"There's  a  horse  coming  up  the  drive." 

Rand  dropped  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  sat  listening. 
"Unlucky!  I  wanted  no  visitor  to-night.  It  may  be  but  a 
messenger.  Ring  the  bell,  will  you,  for  Joab." 

The  horse  came  on  and  stopped  before  the  great  door- 
stone.  There  was  the  sound  of  some  one  dismounting,  Joab 
speaking,  and  then  the  voice  of  the  horseman.  Rand  started 
violently.  "Are  we  awake  ?"  he  said,  rising.  "That  is  Major 
Churchill's  voice." 

Joab  appeared  at  the  door.  "Marse  Lewis,  Marse  Edward 
Churchill  say  kin  he  trouble  you  fer  a  few  minutes'  conversa 
tion  ?  He  say  he  lak  ter  see  you  alone  — " 

"One  moment,  Joab,"  said  the  master,  gathering  the 
papers  from  the  table  as  he  spoke.  "Tom,  you  '11  go  back  to 
the  dining-room  and  wait  for  me  there.  No;  not  by  that  door 


300  LEWIS   RAND 

—  there 's  no  use  in  his  meeting  you.  What  imaginable  thing 
has  brought  him  here  ? "  He  replaced  the  papers  in  a  drawer, 
closed  and  locked  it,  looked  up  to  see  that  Mocket  was  gone, 
and  spoke  to  the  negro.  "Show  Major  Churchill  in  here." 

The  Major  entered,  dry,  withered,  his  empty  sleeve  pinned 
to  the  front  of  his  riding-coat.  "Mr.  Rand,  good-evening. 
Ha,  a  cheerful  fire  against  a  frosty  night !  I  come  in  out  of  the 
cold  to  a  blaze  like  that,  sir,  and  straightway,  by  a  trick  of  the 
mind  that  never  fails,  I  am  back  at  Valley  Forge ! " 

Rand  looked  at  him  keenly.  "  Permit  me  to  hope,  sir,  that 
there  is  nothing  wrong  at  Fontenoy  ?  My  wife  is  well  ? " 

"Fontenoy  is  much  as  usual,  sir,"  answered  his  visitor, 
"and  my  niece  is  very  well.  It  is  natural  that  my  appearance 
here  should  cause  surprise." 

Rand  pushed  forward  a  great  chair.  "Yes,  I  am  surprised," 
he  said,  with  a  smile.  "Very  much  surprised.  But  since  you 
bring  no  bad  news,  I  am  also  glad.  Won't  you  sit,  sir  ?  You 
are  welcome  to  Roselands." 

Major  Edward  took  the  edge  of  the  chair,  and  held  out  his 
long,  thin  fingers  to  the  blaze.  "Yes;  Valley  Forge,"  he 
repeated,  with  his  dry  deliberation.  "Valley  Forge  —  and 
starving  soldiers  moaning  through  the  icy  night!  Washing 
ton  rarely  slept;  he  sat  there  in  his  tent,  planning,  planning, 
in  the  cold,  by  the  dim  light.  There  was  a  war  —  and 
there  were  brave  men  —  and  there  was  a  patriot  soul ! " 

"I  learn  from  Jacqueline  that  Colonel  Churchill  and  you 
too,  sir,  have  shown  her  for  some  days  past  much  kindness, 
tenderness,  and  consideration.  She  has  been  made  happy 
thereby." 

"My  niece  has  never  been  other  than  dear  to  me,  sir,"  said 
the  Major,  and  still  warmed  his  hand.  "I  believe,  Mr.  Rand, 
that  your  father  fought  bravely  in  the  war  ? " 

"He   did    his    part,  sir.    He  was  a  scout  with  General 


MAJOR   EDWARD  301 

Campbell  and,  I  have  heard,  fought  like  a  berserker  at 
King's  Mountain." 

"If  he  did  his  part,"  the  Major  replied,  "he  did  well,  and 
is  to  be  reckoned  among  the  patres  patrice.  It  is  a  good  in 
heritance  to  derive  from  a  patriot  father." 

"So  I  have  read,  sir,"  said  Rand  dryly. 

There  was  a  silence  while  the  flames  leaped  and  roared. 
The  Major  broke  it.  "You  would  take  me,  would  you  not, 
Mr.  Rand,  to  be  a  man  of  my  word  ? " 

"I  should,  sir." 

"It  has  been  my  reputation.  The  last  time  that  I  spoke 
to  you  — " 

Rand  smiled  gravely.  "That  was  two  years  and  a  half  ago, 
and  your  speech  was  to  the  effect  that  never  should  you  speak 
to  me  again.  Well !  opinion  and  will  have  their  mutations. 
Men  of  their  word,  Major  Churchill,  know  better  than  most 
how  little  worth  are  the  words  of  men.  However  you  come 
here  to-night,  pray  believe  that  you  are  welcome,  and  that  I 
would  gladly  be  friends." 

Major  Edward  drew  a  long  breath,  pushed  back  his  chair 
somewhat  from  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  and  from  under  shaggy 
brows  regarded  his  nephew-in-law  with  the  eyes  of  an  old 
eagle,  sombre  and  fierce.  "  Be  so  good,  then,  as  to  conceive 
that  I  come  with  an  olive  branch." 

"It  is  difficult,"  said  Rand,  after  a  pause  and  with  a  smile, 
"to  conceive  that,  but  if  it  be  true,  sir,  then  hail  to  the  olive! 
This  feud  was  not  of  my  seeking."  He  leaned  forward  from 
his  chair  and  held  out  his  hand.  "Ever  since  the  days  of  the 
blue  room  and  that  deep  draught  of  Fontenoy  kindness,  a 
light  has  dwelt  for  me  over  the  place.  Will  you  not  shake 
hands,  sir  ?" 

The  other  made  an  irresolute  movement,  then  drew  back. 
"Let  us  wait  a  little,"  he  exclaimed  harshly.  " Perhaps  I  will, 


302  LEWIS   RAND 

sir,  in  the  end,  perhaps  I  will !  It  is  in  the  hope  that  eventually 
we  will  strike  hands  that  I  sit  here.  But  such  signs  of  amity 
come  with  better  grace  at  the  battle's  end — "  He  paused 
and  glared  at  the  fire. 

"There  is,  then,  to  be  a  battle?" 

The  Major  swung  around  from  the  red  light  of  the  logs. 
"Mr.  Rand,  we  —  my  brother  Dick  and  I  —  propose  a  last 
ing  peace  between  the  two  houses,  between  Fontenoy  and 
Roselands.  My  brother  Henry,  sir,  the  father  of — of  your 
wife,  sir,  was  as  near  to  us  in  love  as  in  blood,  and  the  honour, 
safety,  and  peace  of  mind  of  his  daughter  are  very  much  our 
concern !  You  will  say  that  by  perseverance  in  this  long  es 
trangement  we  have  ignored  the  last  of  these.  Perhaps,  sir, 
perhaps!  Old  men  are  obstinate,  and  their  wounds  do  not 
heal  like  those  of  youth.  Enough  of  that !  We  —  my  brother 
Dick  and  I  —  are  prepared  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  We 
have  cudgelled  our  brains  —  I  mean,  we  have  talked  matters 
over.  We  are  prepared,  Mr.  Rand,  to  meet  you  halfway  —  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Rand.  "  On  what  specific  proposition  ? " 

Major  Edward  rose,  took  a  short  turn  in  the  room,  and 
came  back  to  his  chair.  "Mr.  Rand,  in  the  matter  of  the 
nomination  for  Governor,  is  it  too  late  to  recall  your  refusal  ? 
I  think  not,  sir.  Your  party  has  named  no  other  candidate. 
As  a  Federalist,  I  know,  sir,  but  little  of  that  party's  inner 
working,  but  I  am  told  that  you  would  sweep  the  state.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  say  that  I  wish  to  see  a  Democrat-Republi 
can  Governor  of  Virginia !  I  do  not.  But  since  the  gentleman 
for  whom  I  myself,  sir,  shall  vote,  is  undoubtedly  destined  to 
defeat,  we  —  my  brother  Dick  and  I  —  consider  that  that 
post  may  as  well  be  filled  by  you,  sir,  as  by  any  other  of  your 
Jacobinical  party.  No  one  doubts  your  ability  —  you  are 
diabolically  able!  But,  sir,  I  would  bury  this  arm  where  a 
damned  cutthroat  barber  surgeon  buried  the  other  before  I 


MAJOR  EDWARD  303 

would  cry  on  to  such  a  post  any  man  who  did  not  enter  the 
race  with  heart  and  hands  washed  clean  of  all  but  honour, 
plain  intents,  and  loyalty!  In  the  past  he  may  have  been 
tempted  —  he  may  have  listened  to  the  charmer,  charming 
never  so  wisely  —  there  is  in  man  an  iron  capacity  for  going 
wrong.  He  may  have  done  this,  planned  that  —  I  know  not; 
we  all  err.  It  is  not  too  late;  he  may  yet  put  behind  him  all 
this—" 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  understand,"  said  Rand.  "All  what, 
sir?" 

The  Major  faced  around  from  the  fire  with  a  jerk.  "All 
this.  I  am  explicit,  sir.  All  this." 

"Ah!"  answered  Rand.  "I  am  dull,  I  suppose.  All  this. 
Well,  sir?" 

"I  should,"  continued  the  Major,  with  emphasis,  "regard 
the  acceptance  of  the  nomination  as  proof  positive  of  the  lay 
ing  aside  of  all  conflicting  ideas,  uneasy  dreams,  and  falla 
cious  reasoning,  of  all  intents  and  purposes  that  might  war 
with  a  sober  and  honourable  discharge  of  exalted  public 
duties.  They  are  exalted,  sir,  and  they  may  be  so  highly 
discharged,  so  ably  and  so  loftily,  as  to  infinitely  dignify  the 
office  that  has  already  great  traditions.  A  Governor  of  Vir 
ginia  may  be  the  theme,  sir,  of  many  a  far  distant  pane 
gyric—" 

Again  he  rose  and  stalked  across  the  room,  then,  returning 
to  the  hearth,  stood  before  Rand,  his  high,  thin  features  some 
what  flushed  and  his  deep  old  eyes  alight.  "Mr.  Rand,  it 
would  be  idle  to  deny  to  you  that  I  have  had  for  you  both  dis 
like  and  mistrust.  You  may,  if  you  choose,  even  strengthen 
these  terms  and  say  that  I  have  regarded  you  with  hatred  and 
contempt.  I  am  a  man  of  strong  feelings,  sir,  and  you  out 
raged  them  —  you  outraged  them !  Well,  I  am  prepared 
to  bury  all  that.  Become  a  great  Governor  of  Virginia,  serve 


304  LEWIS   RAND 

your  land  truly,  according  to  the  lights  vouchsafed  to  a  Repub 
lican,  and,  though  we  may  not  vote  for  you,  sir,  yet  we  —  my 
brother  Dick  and  I  —  we  will  watch  your  career  with  interest 
—  yes,  damn  me,  sir !  with  interest,  pride,  and  affection  !"  He 
broke  off  to  stare  moodily  into  the  fire  and,  with  his  foot,  to 
thrust  farther  in  a  burning  log. 

"An  olive  branch!"  exclaimed  Rand,  smiling.  "This  is  a 
whole  grove  of  olives !  I  am  sorry  about  the  governorship  —  " 

"I  have  made  enquiries,"  interrupted  the  other  harshly. 
"  You  have  but  to  signify  your  change  of  mind  to  your  com 
mittee,  and  your  name  is  up.  The  governorship  —  the  gov 
ernorship  is  not  all !  It  is  but  a  step  from  Richmond  to  Wash 
ington.  There's  field  enough  for  even  a  towering  ambition." 
He  looked  around  him.  "And  Roselands.  This  place  has 
always  had  a  charm.  In  the  old  days  it  was  famed  for  hos 
pitality  —  for  hospitality  and  for  the  beauty  of  its  women." 

"In  neither  respect,  sir,  has  it  lost  its  reputation." 

Major  Edward  made  a  gesture  of  acquiescence.  "I  dare 
say  not,  sir,  I  dare  say  not.  I  am  told  that  Republicans  flock 
here.  And  Jacqueline  is  a  beautiful  woman.  Well,  sir,  why 
should  not  pilgrimages  be  made  to  Roselands  as  to  Monti- 
cello  ?  You  have  begun  to  improve  it.  Continue,  and  make 
the  place  a  Garden  of  Eden,  a  Farm  of  Cincinnatus,  a  —  a  — 
what  you  will !  Dick  thinks  that  you  may  not  be  in  funds  to 
plant  and  build  as  you  desire.  If  that  is  so,  sir,  either  he  or  I 
might  with  ease  accommodate  you  —  "  He  paused. 

"I  take  your  offer  as  it  is  meant,"  said  Rand,  "and  thank 
you  both.  But  .my  affairs  are  in  order,  and  I  am  not  strait 
ened  for  money." 

The  Major  made  a  courteous  gesture.  "It  was  but  a  sup 
position.  Well,  Mr.  Rand,  why  not  ?  Why  not  make  the 
picture  real  that  we  are  painting  ?  Eminent  in  public  affairs 
—  eminent  in  the  law  —  ay,  there,  sir,  I  will  praise  you  un- 


MAJOR  EDWARD  305 

reservedly.  You  are  a  great  lawyer  —  worshipped  by  your 
party  and  in  the  line  of  succession  to  its  highest  gift,  fixed 
in  your  state  and  county  and  happy  in  your  home,  rounding 
out  your  life  with  all  that  makes  life  worthy  to  be  lived,  — 

"  Honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends. 

Is  not  the  picture  fair  enough,  sir  ?  There  is  in  it  no  mirage,  no 
Fata  Morgana,  no  marsh  fire.  You  are  a  man  of  great  abili 
ties,  with  ample  power  to  direct  those  inner  forces  to  outward 
ends  that  shall  truly  gild  your  name.  Truly,  sir,  not  falsely. 
Gold,  not  pinchbeck.  Clear  glory  of  duty  highly  done,  not  a 
cloudy  fame  whose  wings  are  drenched  with  blood  and  tears. 
Come,  sir,  come  —  make  an  old  man  happy!"  He  dragged 
his  chair  nearer  to  Rand  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  cannot  accept  the  nomination  for  Governor,  sir/'  said 
Rand.  "There  are  various  considerations  which  put  it  out  of 
the  question.  I  cannot  go  into  these  with  you.  You  must 
take  it  from  me  that  it  is  impossible." 

The  Major  drew  back.    "That  is  final,  sir?" 

"That  is  final." 

There  was  a  silence.  Rand  sat,  chin  in  hand,  thoughtfully 
regarding  his  visitor.  Major  Churchill,  erect,  rigid,  grey,  and 
arid,  stared  before  him  as  though  indeed  he  saw  only  snowy 
plains,  fallen  men,  and  a  forlorn  hope.  At  last  he  spoke  in  a 
dry  and  difficult  voice.  "You  persevere  in  your  intention  of 
returning  to  Richmond  and  to  your  house  on  Shockoe  Hill 
in  November  ? " 

"It  is  my  plan,  sir,  to  go  to  Richmond  in  November." 

"Immediately  upon  your  return  from  over  the  moun 
tains?" 

Rand  shot  a  glance  at  his  interlocutor.    "Immediately." 

"These  lands  that  you  are  going  to  see,  sir  —  they  are  not 
as  far  as  the  Washita  ? " 


3o6  LEWIS  RAND 

"No;  they  are  not  as  far  as  the  Washita."  Rand  sat 
upright  and  let  his  hand  fall  heavily  upon  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  "That  is  a  curious  question,  Major  Churchill." 

"Do  you  find  it  so  ?"  asked  the  Major  grimly.  "/  should, 
were  it  asked  of  me  —  so  damned  strange  a  question  that  it 
would  not  pass  without  challenge !  But  then,  I  am  not  declin 
ing  governorships  nor  travelling  West." 

Rand  rose  from  his  chair.  "Major  Churchill" —  He 
stopped  short,  bit  his  lip,  and  walked  away  to  the  window. 
There  he  drew  the  curtain  slightly  aside  and  stood  with  brow 
pressed  against  a  pane,  gazing  out  into  the  frosty  darkness.  A 
half  moon  just  lifted  the  wide  landscape  out  of  shadow,  and 
from  the  interlacing  boughs  of  trees  the  coloured  leaves  were 
falling.  Rand  looked  at  the  distant  mountains,  but  the  eye  of 
his  mind  travelled  farther  yet  and  saw  all  the  country  beyond, 
all  the  land  of  the  To  Be,  all  the  giant  valley  of  the  Mississippi, 
all  the  rolling,  endless  plains,  all  Mexico  with  snowy  peaks 
and  mines  of  gold.  The  apparition  did  not  come  dazzlingly. 
He  was  no  visionary.  He  weighed  and  measured  and  reck 
oned  carefully  with  his  host.  But  there,  beyond  the  moun 
tains,  lay  no  small  part  of  the  habitable  world,  —  and  the 
race  of  conquerors  had  not  died  with  Alexander  or  Caesar, 
Cortez  or  Pizarro !  Witness  Marengo  and  Austerlitz  and  that 
throne  at  Fontainebleau !  He  dropped  the  curtain  from  his 
hand  and  turned  to  the  firelit  room  and  to  the  tense  grey  figure 
on  the  hearth.  "Major  Churchill,  if,  softened  by  Jacqueline's 
presence  there  at  Fontenoy,  you  came  to-night  to  Roselands 
with  the  simple  purpose  of  making  friends  with  the  man  she 
loves,  then,  sir,  that  man  would  be  a  heartless  churl  indeed  if 
he  were  not  touched  and  gratified,  and  did  not  accept  with 
eagerness  such  an  overture.  But,  sir,  but!  There  is  more,  I 
think,  in  your  visit  to-night  than  meets  the  eye.  You  demand 
that  I  shall  become  my  party's  candidate  for  the  governor- 


MAJOR   EDWARD  307 

ship.  I  answer  it  is  not  now  possible.  You  insist  that  I  shall 
busy  myself  with  improvements  here  at  Roselands,  and  to 
that  end  you  offer  to  reinforce  my  purse.  I  answer  that  Rose- 
lands  does  very  well,  and  that  I  am  not  in  need  of  money. 
You  preach  to  me  patriotism  and  refer  to  General  Washing 
ton;  you  speak  poetically  of  gold  versus  pinchbeck,  and  true 
glory  versus  fame  with  drenched  wings ;  you  ask  me  certain 
questions  in  a  voice  that  has  hardly  the  ring  of  friendship  — 
and  last  but  not  least  you  wish  to  know  if  a  parcel  of  land  that 
I  have  bought  over  the  mountains  is  situate  upon  the  Wash- 
ita !  The  Washita,  Major  Churchill,  is  on  the  far  side  of  the 
Mississippi,  in  Spanish  Territory.  May  I  ask,  sir,  before  I 
withdraw  my  welcome  to  Roselands,  by  what  right  you  are 
entitled  to  put  such  a  question  to  me,  and  what  is,  indeed, 
the  purport  of  your  visit  here  to-night?" 

Major  Edward  Churchill  rose,  stark  and  grey,  with  nar 
rowed  eyes  and  deliberating,  pointing  hand.  "You  are  a  vil 
lain,  sir;  yes,  sir,  a  damned,  skilled,  heart-breaking  villain! 
Bold !  yes,  you  are  bold  —  bold  as  others  of  your  tribe  of  whom 
the  mythologies  tell!  Arrogant  as  Lucifer,  you  are  more 
wretched  than  the  slave  in  your  fields !  You  might  have  been 
upon  the  side  of  light;  you  have  chosen  darkness.  It  will 
swallow  you  up,  and  I,  for  one,  shall  say,  'The  night  hath  its 
own/  You  have  chosen  wrongly  where  you  might  have  chosen 
rightly,  and  you  have  not  done  so  in  blind  passion  but  in  cold 
blood,  fully  and  freely,  under  whatever  monstrous  light  it  is 
by  which  you  think  you  walk !  I  have  warned  you  of  the  gulf, 
and  I  have  warned  in  vain.  So  be  it!  But  do  not  think,  sir, 
do  not  think  that  you  will  be  allowed  to  drag  with  you,  down 
into  the  darkness,  the  woman  whom  you  have  married !  I 
wish  that  my  niece  had  died  before  she  saw  your  face !  Do 
you  know  what  she  thinks  you,  sir  ?  She  thinks  you  a  lover 
so  devoted  that  at  her  pleading  you  put  forever  from  you  a 


308  LEWIS   RAND 

gilded  lure;  a  gentleman  so  absolutely  of  your  word  that  for 
her  to  doubt  it  would  be  the  blackest  treason;  a  statesman  and 
a  patriot  who  will  yet  nobly  serve  Virginia  and  the  country ! 
God  knows  what  she  does  n't  think  you  —  the  misguided 
child !  She 's  happy  to-night,  at  Fontenoy,  because  she 's 
coming  home  to  you  to-morrow.  That  I  should  have  lived 
to  say  such  a  thing  of  Henry  Churchill's  daughter !  When  I 
rode  away  to-night,  she  was  singing."  He  burst  into  spas 
modic  and  grating  laughter.  "It  was  that  song  of  Love 
lace's  !  By  God,  sir,  she  must  have  had  you  in  mind. 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honour  more. 

Yes,  by  God,  she  was  thinking  of  you !  Ha  ha,  ha  ha ! " 

"You  are  an  old  man,"  said  Rand.  "It  is  well  for  you  that 
you  are.  I  wish  to  know  who  is  responsible  for  these  conjec 
tures,  suspicions,  charges  —  whatever  term  you  choose,  sir, 
for  all  are  alike  indifferent  to  me  —  which  brought  you  here 
to-night  ?  Who,  sir,  is  the  principal  in  this  affair  ?  You  are 
an  old  man,  and  you  are  my  wife's  kinsman ;  doubly  are  you 
behind  cover;  but  who,  who,  Major  Churchill,  set  you  on  to 
speak  of  towering  ambition  and  blood-drenched  wings  and 
broken  vows  and  deceived  innocence,  and  all  the  rest  of  this 
night's  farrago  ?  Who,  I  say  —  who  ? " 

"Ask  on,  sir,"  answered  the  Major  grimly.  "There  is  no 
law  against  asking,  as  there  is  none  to  compel  an  answer. 
Sir,  I  am  about  to  remove  myself  from  a  house  that  I  shall  not 
trouble  again,  and  I  have  but  three  words  to  say  before  I  bid 
you  good-night.  I  warn  you  not  to  proceed  with  your  Luci- 
ferian  schemes,  whatever  they  may  be,  sir,  whatever  they 
may  be !  I  warn  you  that  it  is  ill  travelling  over  the  moun 
tains  at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  I  solemnly  protest  to  you 
that  my  niece  shall  not  travel  with  you ! " 


MAJOR   EDWARD  309 

"And  who,"  asked  Rand  calmly,  — "and  who  will  prevent 
that?" 

"Sir,"  answered  the  other,  "a  grain  of  sand  or  a  blade  of 
grass,  if  rightly  placed."  He  shook  his  long  forefinger  at  the 
younger  man.  "You  have  been  fortunate  for  a  long  turn  in 
the  game,  Lewis  Rand,  and  you  have  grown  to  think  the  re 
volving  earth  but  a  pin-wheel  for  your  turning.  You  will 
awake  some  day,  and  since  there  is  that  in  you  which  charity 
might  call  perverted  greatness,  I  think  that  you  will  suffer 
when  you  awake.  In  which  hope,  sir,  I  take  my  leave.  Mr. 
Rand,  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  a  very  good-night." 

The  master  of  Roselands  rang  the  bell.  "Good-night, 
Major  Churchill.  I  am  sorry  that  we  part  no  better  friends, 
and  I  regret  that  you  will  not  tell  me  what  gatherer  up  of 
rumour  and  discoverer  of  mares'  nests  was  at  the  pains  to 
procure  me  the  honour  of  this  visit.  I  might  hazard  a  guess 
—  but  no  matter.  Joab,  Major  Churchill's  horse.  Good 
night,  sir." 

He  bowed  formally.  Major  Churchill  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  straight  before  him  with  a  somewhat  glassy  stare, 
then,  "Good-night,  Mr.  Rand,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  like  a  wind 
through  November  reeds,  made  a  bow  as  low  and  as  studied 
as  that  with  which  he  had  once  honoured  Rand  in  the  Fonte- 
noy  drawing-room,  turned  with  martial  precision,  and  stalked 
from  the  room. 

Lewis  Rand  stood  long  upon  the  hearth,  staring  down  into 
the  fire.  He  heard  Major  Edward's  horse  go  down  the  drive 
and  out  upon  the  highroad  with  a  swiftness  that  spoke  of  a 
rider  in  a  passion.  The  sound  of  hoofs  died  away,  and  he  still 
stood  looking  into  the  red  hollows,  but  at  last  with  a  short  and 
angry  laugh  he  turned  away  and  opened  the  door  which  led 
to  the  dining-room.  "Are  you  still  there,  Tom  ?  Come  in, 
man !  The  accusing  angel  has  gone." 


310  LEWIS   RAND 

Tom  appeared,  and  the  two  went  back  to  the  great  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  Rand  unlocked  the  drawer  and  took 
out  the  papers  in  the  perusal  of  which  they  had  been  inter 
rupted.  Mocket  snuffed  the  candles  and  tossed  another  log 
of  hickory  upon  the  fire.  "  It  falls  in  with  what  Gaudylock 
suspected,"  said  Rand's  measured  voice  behind  him,  "and  it 
all  dates  back  to  the  nineteenth  of  February.  When  he  left 
the  house  that  night,  he  must  have  known — " 

"Of  whom  are  you  talking?"  asked  Tom  at  the  fire. 
"Major  Edward?" 

"No,  not  Major  Edward.  And  now  he  is  using  his  know 
ledge.  She  told  me  to-day  that  he  was  often  at  Fontenoy. 
Too  often,  too  often,  Ludwell  Gary ! " 

"Now,  after  stopping  my  mouth,  you  have  spoken  his  name 
yourself!"  remarked  Tom.  "You  and  he  are  over  against 
each  other  in  that  case  to-morrow,  are  n't  you  ? " 

"In  every  case  we  are  over  against  each  other,"  said  the 
other  abruptly.  "And  we  shall  be  so  until  Judgment  Day. 
Come,  man,  come !  we  have  all  these  to  go  through  with 
before  cockcrow." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   CHALLENGE 

THE  Charlottesville  Robbery  Case  was  one  of  no  great 
importance  save  to  those  directly  concerned.  It  had 
to  do  with  a  forged  note,  a  robbery  by  night,  and  an 
absconding  trusted  clerk  of  a  company  of  British  Merchants. 
When  the  case  came  up  for  trial  on  this  October  day,  the 
Court  House  was  well  filled  indeed,  but  rather  on  account  of 
the  lawyers  engaged  than  because  of  the  matter's  intrinsic 
interest.  The  British  Merchants  had  retained  Mr.  Ludwell 
Cary.  The  side  of  the  prisoner,  mentioning  that  fact  in  a 
pitiful  scrawl  addressed  to  the  law  office  of  Messrs.  Rand  and 
Mocket,  found  to  its  somewhat  pathetic  surprise  that  Mr. 
Rand  himself  would  take  the  case  and  oppose  Mr.  Cary. 

The  two  had  fought  it  with  a  determination  apparent  to 
every  bystander,  and  now,  on  the  last  day  of  the  trial,  the 
counsel  for  the  prosecution  rose  to  sum  up  his  case.  He  was 
listened  to  with  attention,  and  his  speech  was  effective.  The 
theme  was  the  individual  who,  after  forgery  and  embezzle 
ment,  had  taken  French  leave,  quitting  a  post  of  trust  and 
credit  for  regions  where  he  hoped  to  enjoy  his  ill-gotten  gains 
in  peace  and  quietness.  The  regions  had  proved  inhospitable, 
and  a  sheriff  had  escorted  the  unlucky  adventurer  with  that 
which  was  not  his  own  back  to  the  spot  whence  he  had  started. 
His  transgression  was  now  to  be  traced  from  the  moment  — 
day  or  night,  or  sunrise  or  sunset;  what  mattered  the  mo 
ment  ?  —  when  the  thought  passed  through  his  brain,  "  Why 
should  I  plod  on  like  other  men  ? " 

" '  Passed  through,'  did  I  say  ?  —  nay,  it  tarried ;  at  first 


312  LEWIS  RAND 

like  a  visitor  who  will  one  day  take  his  leave,  then  a  cherished 
inmate,  and  at  last  lord  and  master  of  every  crevice  of  that 
petty  mansion !  It  dwelled  there,  and  day  by  day  it  fed  itself 
with  remembered  examples.  *  There  was  Tom,  over  on  the 
Eastern  Shore,  grew  tired,  too,  of  working  for  his  employers, 
— and  he  robbed  the  till  one  night,  and  got  off  on  a  sloop  to 
the  Havana,  and  now  they  say  he  has  a  pirate  ship  of  his 
very  own !  And  Dick.  Dick  got  tired,  too,  in  a  tan-yard  in 
Alexandria,  and  when  his  master  sent  him  on  a  mission  to 
Washington,  he  took  his  foot  in  his  hand  and  went  farther. 
He  had  his  expenses  in  his  pocket,  so  why  not  ?  He 's  pros 
pering  now  in  a  bigger  and  gayer  town  than  Alexandria! 
And  Harry.  Harry  was  more  trusted  than  them  all,  but  he, 
too,  got  tired  —  in  a  warehouse  at  Rocket's  —  of  plod,  plod, 
plod !  serve,  serve,  serve !  So  he  forged  a  name,  and  took  the 
gold  that  lay  beneath  his  hand,  tore  up  his  indentures,  and 
fled  in  the  night-time  —  over  the  hills  and  far  away !  He 's  a 
rich  man  now,  somewhere  near  the  sunset,  rich  and  great, 
with  clerks  of  his  own.  He  had  the  advantage  of  education, 
had  Harry!  Examples!  Examples  thick  as  hops!  What's 
Buonaparte  himself  but  a  poor  Corsican  lieutenant  that  stole 
an  empire  ?  I  '11  be  bold,  too.  I  '11  steal,  and  then  I  '11  steal 
away ! ' 

"So  scullion  soul  to  pliant  body.  His  thought  is  father  to 
his  deed,  and  there  is  the  usual  resemblance  between  son 
and  parent.  What  matters  it  that  he  has  lived  in  his  employ 
er's  house,  and  has  found  him  no  Egyptian  taskmaster,  but  a 
benefactor,  lavish  of  favours  ?  What  matters  it  that  he  has 
in  charge  things  of  trust  and  moment  which,  by  miscarrying, 
will  work  distress  to  many  ?  What  matters  it  that  others  are 
about  him,  engaged  in  this  same  drudgery  of  doing  one's 
duty,  to  whom,  should  he  succeed  in  villainy  as  he  trusts  to 
do,  his  example  will  remain,  a  wrecker's  light  to  entice  the 


A   CHALLENGE  313 

storm-tossed  upon  a  rocky  shore  ?  What  matters  it,  —  I  am 
told,  gentlemen,  that  the  prisoner  has  a  good  and  industrious 
sister,  —  what  matters  it  that  rarely,  rarely,  is  there  ill-doing 
without,  somewhere  in  the  shadowed  background,  some 
bruised  and  broken  heart  ?  What  does  it  matter  that  he  be 
trays  his  trust,  breaks  his  oath,  blackens  his  name,  slurs  his 
friends,  and  recruits  the  army,  wan  and  sinister,  of  all  the 
fallen  since  time  began  ?  To  him,  apparently,  it  matters  less 
than  a  drifting  leaf  in  the  wind  of  this  October  day.  He 
remembers  all  that  he  should  forget,  and  forgets  all  that 
should  be  remembered.  There  pass  by  him  in  long  parade 
Tom  and  Dick  and  Harry  and  others  of  their  ilk.  He  sees 
them,  and  he  sees  little  else.  It  is  a  host  of  choice  spirits,  and 
they  have  banners  flying.  His  courage  mounts.  Brave  emu 
lation  !  noble  rivalry !  He,  too,  will  be  bold ;  he,  too,  will  join 
their  regiment !  For  him,  too,  the  spoils  of  opportunity  and 
a  daughter  of  the  game!  He  feels  the  summer  in  the  air, 
and  all  Brummagem  rises  upon  his  horizon.  Farewell  to 
patient  drudgery  and  the  slow  playing  over  of  the  tune  of 
life!  He's  for  a  brisker  air,  he's  for  'Over  the  hills  and  far 
away.' 

"  His  little  plans  are  laid.  I  say '  little,'  gentlemen,  advisedly, 
for  in  all  this  there  is  no  greatness.  We  speak  of  a  self-seeker 
here,  and  all  the  ends  of  such  an  one  are  small,  and  he  himself 
has  not  attained  the  full  stature  of  a  man.  The  ambitious 
soul  before  us !  By  stealth  he  practises  until  he  can  sign  his 
employer's  name,  more  lifelike  almost  than  life!  By  stealth 
he  gains  impressions  of  the  keys.  By  stealth  he  eyes  the  only 
wealth  that  his  mole  mind  can  value !  By  stealth  he  makes 
his  preparations,  and  by  stealth  he  cons  the  miles  and  the 
post-houses  between  him  and  the  country  to  which  he  means 
to  carry  himself  and  his  stolen  goods !  He  is  assiduous  at  his 
desk;  his  employers  nod  approval,  praise  him  for  a  lad  of 


314  LEWIS   RAND 

parts,  and  hold  him  up  for  emulation.  In  his  brain  one  air 
continues,  —  *  Over  the  hills  and  far  away/ 

"The  day  approaches.  The  forgery  is  done,  the  accus 
tomed  hand  slips  easily  in  and  out  of  the  golden  drawer,  and 
all  the  roads  are  got  by  heart.  We  have  the  loan  of  a  horse  — 
before  another  dawn  we  will  be  gone.  O  Fortune  of  great 
thieves,  stand  pat!  and  kindly  tune  run  on!  'Over  the  hills 
and  far  away/ 

"We  have  been  told  by  the  worthy  gentlemen,  his  employ 
ers,  that  so  trustworthy  did  they  consider  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  so  able  in  their  affairs  and  assiduous  in  their  service,  that 
this  very  day  it  was  in  their  minds  to  increase  his  pay  and  to 
raise  him  quite  above  his  fellow  clerks  to  an  honourable  post 
indeed.  He  did  not  give  them  time,  gentlemen,  he  did  not 
give  them  time !  The  hour  is  here,  the  notes  are  sewn  within 
the  lining  of  our  well-brushed  riding-coat,  the  master  key  is 
in  our  itching  palm !  We  '11  lurk  until  midnight,  then  in  the 
dark  room  we  will  unlock  the  drawer.  If  we  are  heard,  softly 
as  we  step  in  the  silence  of  the  night  —  if  a  watchman  come  — 
the  worse  for  the  watchman !  We  carry  pistols,  and  the  butt 
of  one  against  his  forehead  will  do  the  work.  For  we  are  bold, 
gentlemen,  we  are  as  bold  as  Caesar  or  Buonaparte!  We 
won't  be  stopped  —  we  won't !  We  're  for  'Over  the  hills  and 
far  away/ ' 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  addressed  the  Judge.  "Your 
Honour,  no  watchman,  dead  or  alive,  being  among  the  wit 
nesses,  and  there  being  no  capable  proof  of  what  were  or  were 
not  my  client's  thoughts  upon  the  night  in  question,  I  indig 
nantly  protest — " 

The  objection  was  sustained.  The  interruption  over,  the 
attorney  for  the  British  Merchants  went  evenly  on.  "We 
have  Mr.  Rand's  word  for  it  that  the  prisoner  had  no  thought 
of  the  watchman,  and  no  intention  of  using,  even  in  case  of 


A   CHALLENGE  315 

need,  the  weapons  with  which  it  has  been  proved  he  was  pro 
vided.  Mr.  Rand  must  know.  As  a  rule,  gentlemen  bearing 
arms  about  their  persons  may  be  considered  the  potential 
users  of  said  arms,  whether  the  antiquated  rapier  or  the  mod 
ern  pistol  —  but  then,  I  bethink  me,  we  are  not  speaking 
of  men  of  honour.  We  are  speaking  of  a  small  criminal  in 
a  small  way,  and  Mr.  Rand  assures  us  that  his  thoughts 
matched  his  estate  —  they  were  humble,  they  were  creeping. 
Headstrong,  proud,  and  bold  are  words  too  swelling  for  this 
low  and  narrow  case.  To  wear  a  weapon  with  intent  to  use 
is  one  thing,  to  buckle  it  on  as  a  mere  trivial,  harmless,  mod 
ish  ornament  and  gewgaw  is  quite  another!  We  have  Mr. 
Rand's  word  for  it  that  it  was  so  worn.  Gentlemen,  the  pris 
oner,  armed,  indeed,  as  has  been  proved,  was  absolutely  in 
nocent  of  even  the  remotest  intent  to  use  under  any  provo 
cation  beneath  high  heaven  the  pistols  —  oiled,  primed,  and 
duelling  type  —  with  which,  by  chance  or  for  the  merest 
whim  of  ornament,  he  had  decked  his  person  upon  this  event 
ful  night.  Mr.  Rand  tells  us  so,  and  doubtless  he  knows 
whereof  he  speaks. 

"So  armed  and  so  harmless,  gentlemen,  the  prisoner,  hav 
ing  committed  forgery,  does  now  his  second  crime  —  the 
pitiful  robbery.  The  key  that  he  has  forged  with  care  is  true 
to  him,  the  gold  lies  at  his  mercy,  underneath  his  hand;  he 
lifts  it  up,  the  shining  thing;  he  bears  it  away.  The  hour 
has  struck,  the  deed  is  done;  irrevocable,  it  takes  its  place 
upon  the  inexpugnable  record.  He  has  stolen,  and  there  is  no 
power  in  heaven  or  earth  to  change  that  little  fact.  We  are 
grown  squeamish  in  these  modern  days,  and  no  longer  brand 
a  thief  with  heated  iron.  No  letter  will  appear,  seared  on  his 
shoulder  or  his  hand,  but  is  he  less  the  thief  for  that  ?  He 
himself  has  done  the  branding,  and  Eternity  cannot  wear  out 
the  mark.  He  goes.  With  his  stolen  gold  he  steals  away.  It  is 


316  LEWIS   RAND 

night.  There  are  only  the  stars  to  watch  his  flight,  and  he 
cares  not  for  the  stars  —  they  never  tell.  Have  they  not,  time 
out  of  mind,  stood  the  friend  of  all  gentlemen  of  the  road  ? 
He  quits  the  house  that  has  seen  his  crime;  he  leaves  dull  and 
honest  men  asleep;  he  bestows  no  parting  glance  upon  the 
dim,  familiar  ways.  His  native  land  is  naught  —  he's  for 
green  fields  and  pastures  new  —  he 's  for  Tom  and  Dick  and 
Harry,  and  all  their  goodly  company  —  he's  for  'Over  the 
hills  and  far  away.' ' 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  finished  his  speech.  The 
judge  summed  up  the  case,  the  jury  retired,  and  very  shortly 
returned  with  the  expected  verdict  of  Guilty.  The  chalk- 
white  and  shaking  prisoner  stood  up,  was  sentenced  and  re 
moved,  and,  the  business  of  the  day  being  over,  the  court 
adjourned. 

Good-naturedly,  laughing  and  talking  after  the  morning's 
restraint,  the  crowd,  gentle  and  simple,  from  the  lower  part 
of  the  room,  was  in  the  course  of  jostling  toward  the  door, 
when  there  came  a  sudden  check  coupled  with  exclamations 
from  those  nearest  the  bar,  and  with  a  general  turning  of 
heads  and  bodies  in  that  direction. 

The  lawyer  for  the  prosecution  and  the  lawyer  for  the  de 
fence  stood  opposed,  a  yard  of  court-room  floor  between  them, 
and  around  them  a  ring  of  excited  friends  and  acquaintances. 
There  had  been  high  voices,  but  now  a  silence  fell,  and  the 
throng  held  its  breath  in  cheerful  expectation  of  the  bursting 
of  a  long  predicted  storm. 

"This,"  said  Gary's  clear  and  even  voice,  not  raised,  but 
smoothly  distinct,  —  "this  is  a  challenge,  sir.  I  take  it  rightly, 
Mr.  Rand?" 

"You  take  it  rightly,  Mr.  Gary.  I  shall  presently  send  a 
friend  to  wait  upon  you." 

"  He  will  find  me,  sir,  at  the  Swan.  As  the  challenged  party, 


A   CHALLENGE  317 

it  is  my  prerogative  to  name  hour  and  place.  You  shall 
shortly  be  advised  of  both." 

"  I  am  going  to  my  office,  sir,  where  I  will  await  your  mes 
senger.  You  cannot  name  an  hour  too  soon,  a  place  too  near 
for  me." 

"Of  that  I  am  aware,  Mr.  Rand.  I  will  make  no  delay 
that  I  conceive  to  be  unnecessary.  I  am,  sir,  your  very 
humble  servant." 

"I  am  yours,  Mr.  Gary." 

The  two  bowed  profoundly  and  parted  company,  making 
their  several  ways  through  the  throng  to  the  Swan  and  to  the 
office  with  the  green  door.  With  them  went  their  immediate 
friends  and  backers.  The  crowd  of  spectators,  talking  loud 
or  talking  low,  conjecturing,  explaining,  and  laying  down  the 
law,  jesting,  disputing,  hotly  partisan,  and  on  the  whole  very 
agreeably  excited,  finally  got  itself  out  of  the  Court  House 
and  the  Court-House  yard,  and  the  autumn  stillness  settled 
down  upon  the  place. 

At  Roselands,  in  the  late  afternoon,  Jacqueline  came  out 
upon  the  doorstone  and  sat  there,  listening  for  Selim's  hoofs 
upon  the  road.  The  weather  was  Indian  summer,  balmy, 
mild,  and  blue  with  haze.  On  the  great  ring  of  grass  before  the 
stone  yellow  beech  leaves  were  lying  thick,  and  the  grey 
lirnbs  of  the  gigantic,  solitary  tree  rose  bare  against  the  blue. 
Jacqueline  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hand,  watching  the  moun 
tains,  more  visible  now  that  the  leaves  were  gone.  She  saw 
the  cleft  through  which  ran  the  western  road,  and  she  thought 
with  pleasure  of  the  days  before  her.  She  loved  the  journeys 
to  Richmond,  and  this  one  would  be  more  beautiful,  and  new. 
They  would  be  gone  ten  days,  perhaps,  —  ten  days  of  slow, 
bright  travel  through  sumptuous  woods,  of  talk  close  and  dear. 
She  was  exquisitely  happy  as  she  sat  there  with  her  eyes  upon 
the  Blue  Ridge.  The  last  fortnight  of  her  stay  at  Fontenoy 


3i  8  LEWIS  RAND 

had  been  almost  a  blissful  time.  Her  uncles  changed,  and  no 
longer  passed  her  with  averted  eyes,  or,  when  they  spoke,  used 
so  cold  a  ceremony  as  to  chill  her  heart.  They  grew  almost 
natural,  they  seemed  even  tender  of  her.  Uncle  Dick  had 
once  again  called  her  "My  little. Jack,"  though  he  groaned 
immediately  afterwards  and,  getting  up,  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  Uncle  Edward  left  the  library  door  ajar. 
Jacqueline  laid  her  head  upon  her  arm  and  laughed.  It  was 
coming  right  —  it  was  coming  right !  —  and  next  year  they 
would  all  dance  at  Fontenoy  with  light  hearts,  at  Unity's 
wedding.  It  had  begun  to  come  right  the  evening  of  the  day 
that  she  had  met  Ludwell  Gary  in  the  cedar  wood.  She  won 
dered,  slightly,  at  that  coincidence,  and  then  she  fell  again  to 
dreaming. 

Lewis  was  coming;  he  had  passed  through  the  gate  —  and 
she  started  up.  He  rode  on  to  the  back  of  the  house,  left  his 
horse  there,  and,  striding  through  the  hall  and  down  the  three 
stone  steps,  joined  her  where  she  stood  upon  the  greensward, 
among  the  fallen  leaves.  "Good-evening  to  you!"  she  said, 
touched  his  shoulder  with  her  hand,  and  raised  her  face  to 
his.  He  drew  her  to  him,  kissed  her  with  fierce  passion,  and 
let  her  go,  then  walked  to  the  beech  tree  and  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  house,  staring  at  the  long  wall  of  the  mountains, 
dark  now  against  a  pale  gold  sky.  She  followed  him.  "  Lewis ! 
what  is  the  matter  ?" 

He  answered  without  turning,  "We  are  not  going,  quite 
yet  awhile,  over  the  mountains.  Man  proposes,  and  Ludwell 
Gary  disposes.  Well)  we  will  stay  merrily  at  home.  But  he 
shall  pay  the  score!" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Two  weeks!  What  may  not  happen  over  there  in  two 
weeks  ?  And  I  bound  here,  hard  and  fast,  hand  and  foot !  By 
what  ?  —  by  the  plaything  code  of  a  plaything  honour !  Now, 


A   CHALLENGE  319 

if  he  were  any  other  man  under  the  canopy,  I  would  not 
stay!  The  question  is,  is  it  imaginable  that  all  this  was  of 
set  purpose  ? " 

"Lewis,  what  is  the  matter?" 

Rand  turned.  "The  matter,  child  ?  The  matter  is  that 
you  may  unpack,  and  that  we  will  give  a  dinner  party !  We 
do  not  travel  to-morrow;  no,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  the  next! 
I  have  to  await  a  gentleman's  leisure." 

She  hung  upon  his  arm.  "Lewis,  Lewis,  what  is  it  ?  You 
are  trembling  —  " 

He  laughed.   "  Do  you  think  it  is  with  fear  ? " 

"Don't,  don't!"  she  cried.  "Don't  be  so  angry  —  don't 
look  so  black!  I  am  afraid  of  you.  What  is  it,  dearest,  dear- 
est?" 

"Wait,"  he  said  harshly.    "Wait,  Jacqueline,  a  moment." 

He  put  her  abruptly  from  him,  walked  to  the  doorstone, 
and,  sitting  down,  bowed  his  face  upon  his  hands.  For  some 
moments  he  remained  thus,  while  she  stood  under  the  beech 
tree,  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  watching  him.  At  last  he 
lifted  his  head,  rose,  and  came  back  to  her.  "To-day,  in  the 
court  room,  I  challenged  Ludwell  Gary.  He  has  named,  as 
is  his  right,  time  and  place  of  our  meeting.  The  time,  some 
thing  more  than  two  weeks  from  to-day;  the  place,  five  miles 
from  Richmond.  I  confess  that  I  was  taken  by  surprise. 
I  had  expected  to-morrow  morning  and  the  wood  beyond 
the  race-course.  If  I  thought  —  what,  by  all  the  gods,  I  do 
think !  —  that  he  had  dared  —  that  he  had  done  this  delib 
erately,  with  intent  to  keep  me  here,  I  —  Jacqueline !  why, 
Jacqueline ! " 

"  I  'm  —  I  'm  not  going  to  swoon,"  said  Jacqueline,  with 
difficulty.  "Air,  that  is  all  —  let  me  sit  down  a  moment  on 
the  grass.  A  duel  —  you  and  Ludwell  Gary." 

"I  and  Ludwell  Gary."    Rand  uttered  his  short  laugh. 


320  LEWIS   RAND 

"How  steadily  have  we  been  coming  just  to  this!  I  think 
I  knew  it  long  ago.  I  have  in  me  so  much  of  the  ancient 
Roman  that  I  prize  him,  now  that  we  are  at  grips,  and  think 
him  a  fair  enemy.  If  I  did  not  hate  him,  I  would  love  him. 
But  it  is  the  first,  and  I  '11  not  forgive  this  pretty  trap  he 's 
laid !  What  does  he  think  will  come  after  these  two  weeks 
he  has  me  shackled  ?  Does  he  think  that  he  can  always  keep 
me  here  ?  —  or  only  until  —  until  it  is  too  late  to  go  ? "  He 
struck  his  hand  against  the  beech  tree.  "Well,  well,  mine 
enemy,  we  will  try  conclusions." 

Jacqueline  rose  from  the  grass,  came  to  him,  and  laid  her 
head  upon  his  breast.  "Lewis,  is  there  no  way  out  with  hon 
our  ?  Must  it  be  ?  He  is  my  friend  and  you  my  husband 
whom  I  love.  Will  you  face  each  other  there  like  —  like 
General  Hamilton  and  Aaron  Burr  ?  Oh,  break,  my  heart ! " 

Rand  kissed  her.  "There  is  no  way  out.  He  means  me  to 
stay,  and  I  will  do  it  —  for  this  while,  Gary,  for  this  while ! 
Look,  Jacqueline;  the  sun  is  setting  over  the  road  we  should 
have  gone !  I  have  been  a  fool.  Six  weeks  ago  should  have 
seen  us  far,  far  upon  that  shining  track !  Now  the  world  is 
spinning  from  me,  the  glory  rolling  under,  and  I  feel  the  dark. 
Adam  is  right;  once  started  on  this  trail,  I  should  have  gone 
like  the  strong  arrow's  flight.  I  knew  the  warriors  were  be 
hind  me,  and  yet  I  idled,  —  waited  first  to  break  with  my  old 
chief,  —  as  if  my  going  would  not  have  done  that  work,  as 
short,  as  clean !  —  and  waited  last  because  of  a  sick  woman's 
whim !  If  I  had  not  let  you  go  to  Fontenoy,  we  might  to-day 
have  heard  the  rushing  of  a  mightier  river  than  the  Rivanna 
yonder !  Delay,  delay,  where  haste  itself  should  have  felt  the 
spur!" 

"If  I  had  not  gone  to  Fontenoy,"  cried  Jacqueline,  "my 
aunt  might  have  died  with  her  last  wish  ungratified !  If  I  had 
not  gone,  oh,  what  would  they  not  have  thought  of  me,  most 


A   CHALLENGE  321 

rightly,  most  justly !  Now  we  are  almost  friends  again,  —  the 
thing  I  've  prayed  for,  longed  for,  wept  for,  since  that  June ! 
Was  this  not  worth  the  waiting  ?  There  is  something  here 
that  I  do  not  understand.  Why  should  you  so  greatly  care 
to  see  these  lands  ?  Say  that  there  is  some  money  lost  and 
some  vexation  —  what  does  that  count  against  this  nearing 
home  —  this  making  friends?"  She  struck  her  hands  to 
gether.  "And  yet  —  and  yet  if  we  had  gone,  there  would 
not  have  been  this  day,  this  quarrel,  and  this  challenge ! 
There  would  not  be  this  day  to  come,  when  I  shall  hear 
what,  from  now  till  then  I  '11  dream  I  hear !  O  Christ,  I 
heard  them  then,  the  pistol  shots!  Why  did  we  not  go, 
Lewis,  days  ago  ? " 

"Now  you  are  weeping,"  said  Rand,  "and  that  will  ease 
your  heart.  Could  I  have  helped  it,  I  would  not  have  told  you 
of  this  quarrel.  You  could  not,  however,  have  failed  to  hear; 
it  was  a  public  thing,  and  the  town  is  buzzing  with  it.  See, 
Jacqueline,  I  am  no  longer  passionate.  The  dog  is  down. 
The  mistake,  if  mistake  it  was,  is  made;  we  are  not  over  the 
mountains;  we  are  here  in  Albemarle,  at  Roselands,  under 
neath  the  beech  tree.  I  was  never  one  to  weep  for  spilt  milk. 
This  way  is  stopped,  and  this  moment  foreclosed.  Well,  there 
are  other  moments  and  other  ways !  The  sun  is  down  and  the 
night  falls  dark  and  cold.  Come,  dry  your  eyes !" 
"That  is  soon  done.  The  thorn  is  in  my  heart." 
"I  will  draw  it  out,"  he  answered.  "I'll  draw  it  out  with 
love.  Don't  think  that  Ludwell  Cary  can  hurt  me;  it's  not 
within  his  kingdom.  Do  not  grieve  that  men  are  enemies; 
smile  and  say, '  It  will  be  so  a  few  years  longer ! '  I  am  glad 
with  all  my  heart  that  you  are  friends  again  with  all  at  Fon- 
tenoy.  As  for  this  journey,  I  stayed  for  you,  Jacqueline.  It 
was  needful  for  me  to  go,  but  I  stayed  that  you  might  part 
friends  with  your  kindred.  Remember  it  one  day." 


322  LEWIS   RAND 

"Why,"  she  cried,  —  "why  did  you  not  go  without  me  r 
You  would  not  have  been  long  gone,  and  I  should  have 
waited  your  return  there  at  Fontenoy !  Then  this  day  and  this 
quarrel  would  not  have  come!  Ludwell  Gary  and  you  to 
meet  — O  God!" 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  go  without  you.  You  do  not  understand 
—  but  trust  me,  Jacqueline;  trust  me,  trust  me!"  He  took 
her  in  his  arms.  "Come,  now!  It  is  twilight,  and  there's  a 
dreariness  in  these  fallen  leaves.  Come  indoors  to  the  fire  and 
the  light,  and  the  books  and  the  harp.  Deb  arrived  to-day, 
did  she  not  ? " 

"Yes;  she  is  somewhere  with  Miranda.  They  have  been 
playing  dolls  with  the  last  flowers." 

He  stopped  a  moment  as  they  were  moving  over  the  grassy 
ring.  "Flower  dolls!  They  were  playing  flower  dolls  that 
morning  in  June  when  I  came  down  from  the  blue  room  and 
out  into  the  garden.  There  they  sat,  on  the  red  earth  in  the 
little  cedar  wood,  with  their  bright  ladies.  Deb  told  me  all 
their  names.  She  told  me  more  than  that  —  she  told  me  you 
were  reading  in  the  arbour.  Jacqueline,  are  you  sorry  that 
I  found  you  there  ? " 

"No,  I  am  not  sorry;  I  am  glad.  You  could  make  me 
wretched,  but  you  could  not  make  me  repentant.  Oh, 
Lewis!  I  shall  hear  those  shots  to-night  — " 

"No,  you  will  not  —  I  shall  read  you  to  sleep.  Why,  if 
you  were  a  soldier's  wife,  would  you  hear  all  the  bullets  fly 
ing  ?  There,  the  last  red  has  faded,  and  I  hear  the  children's 
voices!  Come  in;  come  in  out  of  the  dark." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    DUEL 

IT  was  nine  o'clock  of  a  November  morning  when  a  coach, 
driven  out  from  Richmond,  passed  a  country  tavern  and 
a  blacksmith's  shop,  and,  turning  from  the  main  road, 
went  jolting  through  a  stubble-field  down  to  the  steep  and 
grassy  bank  of  the  James.  It  was  a  morning  fine  and  clear, 
with  the  hoar  frost  yet  upon  the  ground.  The  trees,  of  which 
there  were  many,  were  bare,  saving  the  oaks,  which  yet  held 
a  rusty  crimson.  In  the  fields  the  crows  were  cawing,  and 
beyond  the  network  of  branch  and  bough  the  river  flashed 
and  murmured  among  its  multitude  of  islets.  The  place 
was  solitary,  screened  from  the  highroad  by  a  rise  of  land, 
and  fitted  for  a  lovers'  meeting  or  for  other  concerns  of 
secrecy. 

The  coach  drew  up  beneath  a  spreading  oak  with  the  mis 
tletoe  clustering  in  the  dull  red  upper  branches.  Three  men 
stepped  out,  —  Lewis  Rand,  the  gentleman  acting  as  his 
second,  and  a  good  physician.  "We  are  first  on  the  field," 
said  Rand,  looking  at  his  watch.  "It  is  early  yet.  Pompey, 
drive  a  hundred  yards  down  the  bank  —  as  far  as  those 
bushes  yonder  —  and  wait  until  you  are  called.  Ha!  there 
could  be  no  better  spot,  Mr.  Jones ! " 

"I've  seen  no  better  in  my  experience,  sir,"  answered 
Skelton  Jones.  "When  I  was  last  out,  we  had  the  worst  of 
fare !  —  starveling  locust  wood  —  damned  poor  makeshift  at 
gentlemanly  privacy  —  stuck  between  a  schoolhouse  and  a 
church!  But  this  is  good;  this  is  nonpareil!  Fine,  brisk, 
frosty  weather,  too !  I  hate  to  fight  on  a  muggy,  leaden,  dis- 


324  LEWIS  RAND 

pirited  day,  weeping  like  a  widow!   It's  as  crisp  as  mint,  this 
morning  —  hey,  Doctor  ? " 

"I  find,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  preoccupied  tone,  "that  I  Ve 
left  my  best  probe  at  home.  However,  no  matter  —  I  've  one 
I  can  use." 

"I  hear  wheels,"  remarked  Rand.  "He  is  on  the  hour." 
A  chaise  mounted  the  knoll  of  furrowed  land  and  came 
down  to  the  grassy  level  and  the  waiting  figures.  It  stopped, 
and  Ludwell  Gary  and  his  brother  got  out.  "  Drive  over  there 
where  the  coach  is  standing,"  directed  the  latter,  and  chaise 
and  negro  driver  rolled  away.  The  elder  Gary  walked  for 
ward,  paused  within  a  few  feet  of  his  antagonist,  and  the  two 
bowed  ceremoniously. 

"I  trust  that  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Rand." 
"Not  in  the  least,  Mr.  Gary.    The  hour  has  but  struck." 
Fairfax  Gary  strode  up,  and  the  salutations  became  general. 
Skelton  Jones  looked  briskly  at  his  watch.  "With  your  leave, 
gentlemen,  we'll  to  formalities.    The  Washington  stage  has 
just  gone  by,  and  we  will  all  wish  to  get  back  for  the  mail. 
Mr.  Fairfax  Gary,  shall  we  walk  a  little  to  one  side  ?    You 
have,  I  see,  the  case  of  pistols.    Dr.  McClurg,  if  you  will 
kindly  station  yourself  beneath  yonder  oak — " 

The  seconds  stepped  aside  for  their  conference,  and  the 
doctor  retreated  to  the  indicated  oak.  Lewis  Rand  and  Lud 
well  Gary  exchanged  a  comment  or  two  upon  the  weather, 
then  fell  silent.  The  one  presently  sat  down  upon  the  root  of 
a  tree,  and,  drawing  out  a  pocket-book,  began  to  look  over 
certain  memoranda ;  the  other  walked  near  the  river  and  stood 
gazing  across  its  falls  and  eddies  and  innumerable  fairy 
islands  to  the  misty  blue  of  the  farther  woods.  The  seconds 
returned  and  proceeded  to  measure  the  distance  —  ten  paces, 
after  which  they  loaded  the  pistols.  Skelton  Jones  advanced, 
the  ends  of  two  strips  of  paper  showing  from  his  closed  hand. 


THE   DUEL  325 

"  Gentlemen,  you  will  draw  for  choice  of  position.  The  long 
est  strip  carries  the  advantage.  Thank  you.  Mr.  Gary, 
Fortune  favours  you!  We  are  ready  now,  I  think." 

The  two  laid  aside  their  riding-coats.  Gary  walked  across 
the  leaf-strewn  lists  and,  turning,  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
sun.  Rand  took  the  opposite  place.  The  seconds  presented 
the  loaded  pistols.  As  Gary  took  his  from  his  brother,  their 
hands  touched  —  that  of  the  younger  was  marble  cold.  Skel- 
ton  Jones  crossed  to  his  principal's  right,  and  Fairfax  Gary 
moved  also  to  his  proper  place.  There  was  a  minute's  pause 
while  the  sun  shone  and  the  leaves  drifted  down,  then,  "Are 
you  ready,  gentlemen?"  cried  Rand's  second. 

The  principals  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Fairfax  Gary 
gave  the  word,  "Present!"  The  two  raised  their  weapons, 
and  Skelton  Jones  began  to  count  "One  —  two  —  three! 
Fire!"  Rand  fired.  Gary  swayed  slightly,  recovered  himself, 
and  stood  firm.  Fairfax  Gary  took  the  count.  "One  —  two 

—  three !   Fire ! "    The  elder  Gary  slowly  turned  the  muzzle 
of  his  pistol  from  his  waiting  antagonist,  and  fired  into  the  air. 

The  report  echoed  from  the  winding  river-banks.  For  an 
appreciable  moment,  until  it  died  away,  the  participants  in 
the  meeting  stood  motionless,  then  the  seconds  bestirred 
themselves  and  ran  forward. 

"But  a  single  shot,  each,  gentlemen  —  that  was  agreed 
upon!"  cried  the  one,  and  the  other,  "Ludwell,  you  are 
wounded!  Where  is  it?  Dr.  McClurg!  Dr.  McClurg!" 

"It  is  nothing,  Fair,  —  through  the  shoulder."  Gary 
waved  him  aside  and  turned  a  face,  pale  but  composed,  upon 
Lewis  Rand,  who  now  stood  before  him.  Rand's  hue  was  dark 
red,  his  features  working.  "Why,"  he  demanded  hoarsely, 

—  "why  did  you  not  fire  upon  me  ? "  The  agitation,  marked 
as  it  was,  ceased  or  was  controlled  even  as  he  spoke.    The 
colour  faded,  the  brow  lost  its  corrugations,  and  the  voice  its 


326  LEWIS   RAND 

thickness.  Before  his  antagonist  could  reply,  he  spoke  again. 
"It  was  yours,  of  course,  to  do  what  you  pleased  with.  I 
sincerely  trust  that  your  wound  is  not  deep.  I  have  regretted 
the  necessity  —  I  profess  myself  entirely  satisfied." 

"That  is  well,"  answered  Gary,  "and  I  thank  you,  Mr. 
Rand.  The  wound  is  utterly  of  no  consequence." 

"Here  is  Dr.  McClurg,"  said  Rand.  "I  will  wait  yonder 
to  hear  that  confirmed." 

He  walked  to  the  river-bank  and  stood,  as  Gary  had  stood  a 
little  earlier,  gazing  over  the  falls  and  eddies  and  fairy  islands 
to  the  blue  woods  on  the  farther  shore.  Under  the  oak  which 
he  had  left,  the  doctor  looked  and  handled,  with  a  pursed  lip, 
a  keen  eye,  and  a  final  "  Humph  ! "  of  relief.  "  High  and  clean 
through  and  just  a  little  splintered.  You  '11  wear  your  arm 
in  a  sling  for  a  while,  Mr.  Gary !  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary,  you  're 
too  white  by  half!  There's  a  brandy  flask  in  yonder  case. 
Mr.  Jones,  the  wound  is  slight." 

"Why,  that's  good  hearing!"  cried  Skelton  Jones.  "Mr. 
Gary  must  return  to  town  in  the  coach,  with  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary 
and  with  you,  Doctor.  Mr.  Rand  and  I  will  take  the  chaise. 
My  profound  regard,  and  my  compliments,  Mr.  Gary!  Mr. 
Fairfax  Gary,  may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  acting  with  you 
again !  Doctor,  good-morning.  Now,  Mr.  Rand." 

Rand  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the  river,  advanced 
toward  the  group  beneath  the  oak,  and  bowed  with  formality 
to  Gary,  who,  arresting  the  doctor's  ministrations,  returned 
the  salute  in  kind.  The  chaise,  beckoned  to  by  Mr.  Jones, 
came  up;  there  was  a  slight  and  final  exchange  of  courtesies, 
and  the  two  Republicans  entered  the  vehicle  and  were  driven 
away. 

"Give  them  five  minutes'  start,  Fair,"  ordered  Gary. 
"Then  call  the  coach;  I  want  to  get  back  to  town  for  the 
Washington  mail." 


THE   DUEL  327 

"You'll  get  back  to  town  and  get  to  bed!"  stormed  the 
other.  "  '  Fire  in  the  air,'  quotha !  /  could  have  brought  down 
a  kite  from  the  blue !  You  might,  at  least,  have  broken  a 
wing  for  him  ! " 

"Oh,  I  might,  I  might,"  said  the  other  wearily.  "But  I 
did  n't.  I  never  liked  this  work  of  breaking  wings.  Now, 
Doctor,  that  is  a  bandage  fit  for  a  king!  Call  the  coach,  Fair. 
This  much  of  the  business  is  over." 

The  chaise  carrying  Lewis  Rand  and  his  companion  trav 
ersed  with  rapidity  the  miles  to  Richmond.  The  road  was 
fair,  and  the  day  bright  and  cool.  The  meeting  by  the  river 
had  occupied  hardly  an  hour;  the  world  of  the  country  was 
yet  at  its  morning  stirring,  and  filled  with  cheerful  sound. 
Above  the  fields  the  sky  showed  steel  blue;  the  creepers  upon 
the  rail-fencing  still  displayed,  here  and  there,  five  crimson 
fingers,  and  wayside  cedars  patched  with  shadow  the  pale 
ribbon  of  the  road.  Rand  kept  silence,  and  his  late  second, 
at  first  inclined  to  talkativeness,  soon  fell  under  the  infection 
and  stared  blankly  at  the  fence  corners.  A  notorious  duellist, 
he  may  have  been  busy  with  dramas  of  the  past.  Rand's 
thought  was  for  the  future. 

They  came  into  Main  Street  and  drove  to  Rand's  office. 
"We'll  dismiss  the  chaise  here,"  said  the  latter.  "I  have  a 
few  directions  to  give,  and  then  I  'm  for  the  post-office  and 
the  Eagle." 

"I  will  precede  you  there,"  answered  the  other.  "Allow 
me,  sir,  before  we  part,  to  express  the  gratification  I  have 
felt  in  serving,  to  the  best  of  my  poor  abilities,  a  gentleman 
of  whom  the  party  expects  so  much  — " 

"Rather  allow  me,  sir,  to  express  my  gratitude  — "  and  so 
on  through  the  stilted  compliment  of  the  day.  Assurances 
from  both  sides  over  at  last,  and  the  chaise  discharged,  the 
one  walked  briskly  down  the  unpaved  street  toward  the  Eagle, 


328  LEWIS   RAND 

and  the  other  entered  quietly  the  bare  and  business-like  room 
from  whose  window,  last  February,  he  had  fed  the  snow 
birds.  The  room  was  not  vacant.  Before  the  table,  with  his 
arms  upon  it,  and  his  head  upon  his  arms,  sat  Mocket.  At 
the  sound  of  the  closing  door  he  started  up,  stared  at  Rand, 
then  fell  back  with  a  gasp  of  relief,  and  the  water  in  his 
eyes. 

"Lewis?   Thank  the  Lord!" 

"It's  Lewis,"  said  the  other.  "My  good  old  fellow,  did 
you  think  only  to  see  my  ghost  ?  Well,  the  comedy  is  over." 

"Lord!  it's  been  a  long  hour!"  breathed  his  associate. 
"What  did  you  do  to  him,  Lewis?" 

"He  has  a  ball  through  his  shoulder.  It  is  not  serious. 
I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,  Tom."  Rand  spoke  ab 
ruptly,  and,  walking  to  his  desk,  sat  down,  drew  a  piece  of 
paper  toward  him,  and  dipped  a  quill  into  the  ink-well.  "Is 
Young  Isham  there  ?  He  is  to  take  this  note  to  the  house, 
to  Mrs.  Rand." 

Mocket  went  to  find  Young  Isham.  Rand,  alone  in  the 
room,  wrote  in  his  strong,  plain  hand :  — 

JACQUELINE:  —  We  met  an  hour  ago.  He  is  slightly 
wounded  —  through  the  shoulder.  I  tell  you  truth,  it  is  in 
no  wise  dangerous.  I  am  unhurt. 

The  hand  travelling  across  the  sheet  of  paper  paused,  and 
Rand  sat  for  a  moment  motionless,  looking  straight  before 
him;  then,  with  an  indrawn  breath,  he  dipped  the  quill  again 
into  the  ink  and  wrote  on,  — 

He  fired  into  the  air. 

Thine,  LEWIS. 

He  sanded  the  paper,  folded  and  sealed  it,  sat  for  a  moment 
longer,  leaning  back  in  his  heavy  chair,  then  rose  and  himself 
gave  the  missive  to  Young  Isham,  with  orders  to  make  no 


THE   DUEL  329 

tarrying  between  the  office  and  the  house  on  Shockoe  Hill. 
Rand's  slaves  had  for  him  a  dog-like  affection  combined  with 
a  dog-like  fear  of  his  eye  in  anger.  The  boy  went  at  once,  and 
the  master  returned  to  the  waiting  Tom.  "The  Washing 
ton  stage  is  in,"  he  said.  "I  am  going  now  to  the  Eagle,  and 
you  had  best  come  with  me.  Then  back  here,  and  to  work ! 
Where  is  that  man  from  the  Bienville  at  Norfolk  ? " 

"He's  waiting  at  the  Indian  Queen.  I  can  get  him  here 
in  ten  minutes.  This  morning's  Argus  says  that  the  Bien 
ville  of  New  Orleans  sails  on  Saturday  —  valuable  cargo  and 
no  passengers." 

"Ah,"  said  Rand;  "the  Argus's  eyes  are  heavy." 

"A  half-breed  hunter  was  here  this  morning.  He  says  that, 
ten  days  ago,  crossing  the  Endless  Mountains  with  his  face 
to  the  east,  he  met  the  great  hunter  they  call  Golden-Tongue 
walking  very  fast,  with  his  face  to  the  west.  Learning  that 
he  was  on  his  way  to  Richmond,  Golden-Tongue  gave  him 
this  to  be  delivered  in  silence  to  you."  Mocket  took  from  the 
table  a  feather  and  held  it  out  to  the  other. 

"A  blackbird  feather,"  exclaimed  Rand,  turning  it  over  in 
his  hand.  "That  would  mean  —  that  would  mean  —  'It  is 
the  fall  of  the  leaf.  The  bird  has  flown  south.  Follow  all 
the  migratory  tribe !  follow  while  the  air  is  yet  open  to  you,  or 
stay  behind  with  the  sick  and  the  old  and  the  faint  of  heart 
and  the  fighters  against  instinct!  Winter  comes.  It  is  time 
to  make  haste."  He  laid  the  feather  down  with  a  smile. 
"That's  Adam.  Well,  Adam,  we  will  see  how  swift  the 
Bienville  can  fly!  I  may  yet  be  first  at  New  Orleans. 
Wilkinson  and  I  to  welcome  Burr  and  all  the  motley  in  his 
river-boats  with  a  salvo  from  the  city  already  ours.  Ha! 
that 's  a  silvery  dream,  Tom,  and  an  eagle's  pinion  for  Adam's 
blackbird  quill!"  He  laughed  and  took  up  his  hat.  "Let's 
down  the  street  first,  and  then  you  may  find  the  man  from 


330  LEWIS   RAND 

the  Bienville.  There's  a  long  day's  work  before  us,  and  to 
night"  —  He  drew  a  quick  breath.  "To-night  I  have  a  task 
that  is  not  slight.  Come  away!  It's  striking  twelve." 

The  two  closed  the  office  and  went  out  into  the  sunny 
street.  "Where  are  all  the  people?"  exclaimed  Mocket. 
"It's  as  still  as  Sunday." 

A  boy  at  a  shop  door,  hearing  the  remark,  raised  a  piping 
voice.  "Everybody's  down  at  the  Eagle  and  the  post-office, 
sir.  I  heard  them  say  there's  big  news.  Maybe  the  Presi 
dent's  dead!" 

The  distance  to  the  Eagle  was  but  short.  Rand  walked  so 
rapidly  that  his  companion  had  difficulty  to  keep  beside  him, 
and  walked  in  silence,  cutting  short  every  attempt  of  Tom's 
to  speak.  They  came  within  sight  of  the  tavern.  The  long 
lower  porch  seemed  crowded,  the  street  in  front  filled  with 
people.  There  were  horsemen,  a  coach  and  a  chaise  or  two, 
a  rapid  shifting  of  brown,  green,  blue,  and  plum-coloured 
coats,  a  gleam  here  and  there  of  a  woman's  dress.  A  bugle 
sounded,  and  there  issued  from  Governor  Street  first  a  roll 
of  drums  and  a  shouted  order,  and  then  a  company  in  blue 
and  white  with  tall,  nodding  plumes. 

"There  are  the  Blues '."cried  Tom.  "My  land!  What  is 
the  fuss  about  ? " 

They  were  now  upon  the  edge  of  the  throng,  which  sud 
denly  fell  from  excited  talking  to  a  breathless  attention.  A 
tall  man  of  commanding  presence  and  ringing  voice  had 
mounted  a  chair,  set  at  the  top  of  the  steps  to  the  Eagle 
porch,  and  unfolded  a  paper.  Rand  touched  upon  the 
shoulder  the  man  before  him.  "Mr.  Ritchie,  I  have  just 
come  in  from  the  country,  and  have  heard  nothing.  What, 
sir,  is  the  matter  ? " 

"Treason,  sir!"  answered  the  editor  of  the  Enquirer. 
"Treason.  An  attempt  to  disrupt  the  Republic!  A  blow  in 


THE  DUEL  331 

the  face  of  Washington  and  Henry  and  Franklin,  of  the  sacred 
dead  and  the  patriot  living !  The  lie  direct  to  the  Constitu 
tion  !  Apollyon  stretching  himself,  sir;  but,  by  gad !  Apollyon 
foiled !  Listen,  and  you  will  hear.  Foushee  's  reading  the 
Proclamation  for  the  second  time." 

"Ah,"  said  Rand,  in  a  curious  voice.  "A  Proclamation. 
From—" 

"From  the  President.  Evil  hasn't  prospered,  and  though 
we  can't  hang  Apollyon,  we  can  hang  Aaron  Burr.  Listen 


now." 


The  reader's  voice  was  sonorous,  and  his  text  came  fully 
to  all  the  crowd  in  the  Richmond  street. 

"  Whereas  information  has  been  received  that  sundry  persons, 
citizens  of  the  United  States  or  resident  within  the  same,  are 
conspiring  and  confederating  together  to  begin  and  set  on  foot, 
provide  and  prepare,  the  means  of  a  military  expedition  or 
enterprise  against  the  Dominions  of  Spain,  against  which 
nation  war  has  not  been  declared  by  the  constitutional  authori 
ties  of  the  United  States;  that  for  this  purpose  they  are  fitting 
out  and  arming  vessels  in  the  western  waters  of  the  United 
States,  collecting  provisions,  arms,  military  stores,  and  other 
means;  are  deceiving  and  seducing  honest  men  and  well-mean- 
ing  citizens  under  various  pretences  to  engage  in  their  criminal 
enterprises;  are  organising,  officering,  and  arming  themselves 
for  the  same,  contrary  to  the  laws  in  such  cases  made  and  pro 
vided,  —  /  have  therefore  thought  it  fit  to  issue  this  my  pro 
clamation,  warning  and  enjoining  all  faithful  citizens  who 
have  been  led  to  participate  in  the  said  unlawful  enterprise 
without  due  knowledge  or  consideration  to  withdraw  from  the 
same  without  delay,  and  commanding  all  persons  whatsoever 
engaged  or  concerned  in  the  same  to  cease  all  farther  proceedings 
therein  as  they  will  answer  the  contrary  at  their  peril,  and  will 


332  LEWIS  RAND 

incur  prosecution  with  all  the  rigours  of  the  law.  And  I  hereby 
enjoin  and  require  all  officers,  civil  or  military,  of  the  United 
States,  or  of  any  of  the  States  or  Territories,  and  especially  all 
Governors,  and  other  executive  authorities,  all  judges,  justices, 
and  other  officers  of  the  peace,  all  military  officers  of  the  mili 
tia,  to  be  vigilant,  each  within  his  respective  department  and 
according  to  his  functions,  in  searching  out  and  bringing  to 
condign  punishment  all  persons  engaged  or  concerned  in  such 
enterprise,  and  in  seizing  and  detaining,  subject  to  the  disposi 
tion  of  the  law,  all  vessels,  arms,  military  stores,  or  other  means 
provided  or  providing  for  the  same,  and  in  general  preventing 
the  carrying  on  such  expedition  or  enterprise  by  all  the  lawful 
means  within  their  power.  And  I  require  all  good  and  faithful 
citizens  and  others  within  the  United  States  to  be  aiding  and 
assisting  herein,  and  especially  in  the  discovery,  apprehension, 
and  bringing  to  justice  of  all  such  offenders,  and  the  giving 
information  against  them  to  the  proper  authorities. 

"In  testimony  whereof  I  have  caused  the  seal  of  the  United 
States  to  be  affixed  to  these  presents,  and  have  signed  the  same 
with  my  hand.  Given  at  the  City  of  Washington  on  the  twenty- 
seventh  day  of  November,  1 806,  and  of  the  sovereignty  and 
Independence  of  the  United  States  the  thirty-first. 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON." 

"That  isn't  all,"  said  Mr.  Ritchie  in  Rand's  ear.  "The 
plot  was  not  only  against  Spain  —  it  looked  to  the  separation 
of  the  West  from  the  East,  with  the  Alleghanies  for  the  wall 
between.  General  Wilkinson  is  the  hero.  It  seems  that  Burr 
thought  to  implicate  him  and  secure  the  army.  Wilkinson  sent 
Burr's  letters  in  cipher  to  the  President.  The  Government 
has  had  knowledge  from  various  sources,  and  while  he  was 
thought  to  be  dozing  last  summer,  Mr.  Jefferson  was  as  wide 
awake  as  you  or  I.  The  militia  are  out  in  Wood  County,  and 


THE  DUEL  333 

Burr  will  be  taken  somewhere  upon  the  Ohio.  Wilkinson  has 
put  New  Orleans  under  martial  law.  Informer  or  no,  he's 
now  more  loyal  than  loyalty  itself.  The  Bienville  is  to  be 
searched  at  Norfolk  for  a  consignment  of  arms.  They  say 
Eaton 's  implicated,  and  Alston,  Bollman,  Swartwout,  and 
this  man  Blennerhassett.  Truxtun's  name  is  mentioned,  and 
it 's  said  that  Decatur  was  applied  to.  Andrew  Jackson,  too, 
has  been  friendly  with  Burr.  Well,  we  '11  see  what  we  will  see ! 
Treason  and  traitor  are  ugly  words,  Mr.  Rand." 

"They  are  so  considered,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  Rand,  with 
calmness.  "Thanks  for  your  courtesy,  and  good-morning!" 

He  bowed  and  made  his  way,  not  unaccosted,  through  the 
crowd  to  the  Eagle  porch.  There  was  much  excitement.  The 
Governor  was  speaking  from  the  head  of  the  steps.  Below 
him  planters,  merchants,  lawyers,  and  politicians  were  now 
listening  eagerly,  now  commenting  sotto  voce,  while  beyond 
them  the  nondescript  population  swayed  and  exclaimed.  To 
one  side  were  massed  the  tall  plumes  of  the  Blues.  Rand  saw, 
near  these,  Fairfax  Gary's  handsome  face,  not  pale  as  it  had 
been  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  but  alert,  flushed,  and 
—  or  so  Rand  interpreted  its  light  and  energy  —  triumphant. 
He  went  on  into  the  house,  ordered  and  drank  a  small  quan 
tity  of  brandy,  and  when  he  came  back  upon  the  porch  was 
met  by  those  near  him  with  a  cry  of  "Speech!  Speech!" 
The  Governor's  periods  were  at  an  end,  and  John  Randolph 
of  Roanoke  held  the  impromptu  tribune.  Rand's  eloquence, 
if  not  as  impassioned  and  mordant,  was  as  overwhelming, 
and  his  reasoning  of  a  closer  texture.  Those  around  him 
loudly  claimed  him  for  the  next  to  address  the  crowd,  which 
now  numbered  a  great  part  of  the  free  men  of  Richmond. 
He  shook  off  the  detaining  hands  and,  with  a  gesture  of  re 
fusal  to  one  and  all,  made  his  escape  by  a  side  step  into  the 
miscellany  of  the  street,  and  finally  out  of  the  throng,  and, 


334  LEWIS   RAND 

by  a  detour,  back  to  the  deserted  square  where  stood  his 
office.  He  had  lost  sight  of  Mocket,  but  as  he  put  his  key  into 
the  door,  the  other  came  panting  up,  and  the  two  entered 
the  bare,  sunshine-flooded  room  together.  Rand  locked  the 
door  and,  without  a  look  at  his  trembling  subaltern,  pro 
ceeded  to  take  from  his  desk  paper  after  paper,  some  in 
neatly  tied  packets,  some  in  single  sheets,  until  a  crisp  white 
heap  lay  on  the  wood  beneath  his  hand.  "  Light  a  fire,"  he 
said  over  his  shoulder.  "There 's  absolutely  nothing,  is  there, 
in  that  desk  of  yours  ? " 

"Nothing.  For  the  Lord's  sake,  Lewis,  is  this  the  end  of 
everything  ?" 

"Everything  is  a  large  word.  It  is  the  end  of  this."  He 
pushed  a  table  closer  to  the  fireplace  and  transferred  to  it 
his  armful  of  papers.  "  Strike  a  light,  will  you  ?  Here  goes 
every  line  that  can  incriminate.  If  Burr  did  as  he  was  told, 
and  burned  two  letters  of  mine,  there  '11  not  be  a  word  when 
I  finish  here."  He  tore  a  paper  across  and  tossed  it  into  the 
flame.  "Tom,  Tom,  don't  look  so  woe-begone!  Life  is  long, 
and  now  and  then  a  battle  will  be  lost.  A  battle  —  a  cam 
paign,  a  war !  But  given  the  fighter,  all  wars  will  not  be  lost. 
Somewhere,  there  awaits  Victory,  hard-won,  but  laurel- 
crowned!"  He  tore  and  burned  another  paper.  "This  fat's 
in  the  fire,  this  chance  has  gone  by,  this  road 's  barricaded, 
and  we  must  across  country  to  another !  Well,  I  shall  make 
it  serve,  the  smooth,  green,  country  road  that  jog-trots  to 
market !  What  is  man  but  a  Mercenary,  a  Swiss,  to  die  before 
whatever  door  will  give  him  moderate  pay  ?  I  would  have  had 
a  kingdom  an  I  could.  I  would  have  ruled,  ay,  by  God,  and 
ruled  well !  The  great  wheel  will  not  have  it  so.  Down,  then, 
that  action !  and  up  this.  The  King  is  dead :  long  live  the 
King !  —  alias  the  Law,  Respectability,  Virginia,  and  the 
Union ! "  He  tossed  in  a  double  handful. 


THE  DUEL  335 

"All  those!"  said  Tom  dully.   "I  hate  to  see  them  burn." 

"They  might  have  burned  this  morning,"  answered  the 
other.  "  I  gave  you  orders  to  burn  them  if  I  fell,  the  mo 
ment  you  heard  it." 

"  But  you  did  not  fall." 

"No.  He  fired  into  the  air."  Rand  tore  the  paper  in  his 
hand  across  and  across.  "He  had  me  in  his  trap.  That  was 
why  —  that  was  why  he  spared  to  fire!  Oh,  I  could  take  this 
check  from  the  hand  of  Fortune,  or  the  hand  of  Malice,  or 
the  hand  of  Treachery,  or  the  hand  of  Policy,  but,  but"  — 
he  crushed  the  torn  paper  in  his  hands,  then  flung  it  from  him 
with  a  violent  and  sinister  gesture —  "to  take  it  from  the 
hand  of  Ludwell  Gary  —  that  requires  more  than  my  philo 
sophy  is  prepared  to  give!  Let  him  look  to  himself!"  He 
thrust  in  another  bundle,  and  held  down  with  an  ashen  stick 
the  mass  of  curling  leaves. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CHAPTER  XXV 
OLD  SAINT  JOHN'S 

THE  distance  was  so  great  from  the  more  populous 
part  of  the  town  to  Saint  John's  on  Church  Hill, 
and  the  road  thereto  so  steep,  in  hot  weather 
dusty,  in  wet  deep  in  mud,  that  it  had  become  the  Rich 
mond  custom  to  worship  within  the  Capitol,  in  the  Hall  of 
the  House  of  Delegates.  But  during  this  August  of  the  year 
1807  the  habit  was  foregone.  It  was  the  month  in  which 
Aaron  Burr,  arrested  in  Alabama  in  January,  brought  to 
Richmond  in  the  early  spring,  and,  since  the  finding  of  a 
true  bill,  confined  in  the  penitentiary  without  the  town,  was 
to  be  tried  for  his  life  on  the  charge  of  high  treason.  Early 
and  late,  during  the  week,  every  apartment  of  the  Capitol 
was  in  requisition,  and  though  the  building  itself  was  closed 
on  Sunday,  the  Capitol  Square  remained,  a  place  of  ren 
dezvous,  noise,  heat,  confusion,  and  dispute.  There  was  in 
the  town  a  multitude  of  strangers,  with  a  range  from  legal, 
political,  military,  and  naval  heights,  through  a  rolling 
country  of  frontiersmen,  to  a  level  of  Ohio  boatmen,  ser 
vants,  and  nondescript.  Many  were  witnesses  subpoenaed 
by  the  Government,  others  had  been  called  by  Burr,  and 
yet  others  brought  upon  the  scene  by  varied  interests,  or 
by  the  sheer,  compelling  curiosity  which  the  trial  evoked. 
One  and  all  were  loudly  and  fiercely  partisan.  The  lesser 
sort  and  ruder  fry  congregated  in  numbers  beneath  the 
trees  about  the  Capitol,  and  it  was  thought  with  propriety 
that  during  this  month  church-going  ladies  would  prefer  to 
attend  Saint  John's.  Here,  therefore,  on  a  Sunday  in  mid- 


OLD   SAINT  JOHN'S  337 

August,  the  Reverend  John  Buchanan  preached  to  a  large 
and  noteworthy  assemblage. 

The  day  was  hot,  but  the  chestnut  trees  and  sycamores 
gave  a  grateful  shade,  and  large  white  clouds  in  a  brilliant 
blue  threw  now  and  then  a  transient  screen  between  sun  and 
earth.  The  broad  and  murmuring  river  and  the  far  stretch 
of  woodland  upon  the  Chesterfield  side  gave,  too,  a  sensation 
of  space  and  coolness.  Faint  airs  carried  the  smell  of  mid 
summer  flowers,  and  bees  droned  around  the  flat  tombstones 
sunk  in  honeysuckle.  The  congregation  gathered  slowly,  the 
masculine  portion  of  it  lingering,  as  was  the  custom,  in  the 
wide  old  churchyard  until  the  second  tinkling  of  the  bell 
should  call  them  indoors.  They  had  thus  the  double  advan 
tage  of  talk  and  observation  of  the  Progress  of  Women.  These 
traversed  the  path  to  the  church  door  like  a  drift  of  blossoms 
in  the  summer  air,  saluted  on  either  hand  by  the  lowest  of 
bows,  the  most  gallant  lifting  of  bell-shaped  hats.  Whatever 
might  be  said  of  the  men's  dress,  from  the  fair  top-boot  to  the 
yards  of  lawn  that  swathed  the  throat,  that  of  the  weaker  sex, 
in  the  days  of  the  Empire,  was  admirably  fitted  for  August 
weather.  Above  pale,  thin  stuffs,  girdled  beneath  the  breast 
and  falling  straight  and  narrow  to  the  instep,  rose  bare  white 
neck  and  arms,  while  each  charming  face  looked  forth  from 
an  umbrageous  bonnet  of  fine  straw.  Bonnet  and  large  fan 
appeared  the  only  ample  articles  of  attire;  even  the  gloves 
were  but  mitts.  By  ones  and  twos,  or  in  larger  knots,  the  wear 
ers  of  this  slender  finery  entered  Saint  John's  with  sedate- 
ness,  took  their  seats  in  the  dim  old  pews,  and  waited  in  the 
warm,  fragrant,  whisper-filled  air  for  the  ringing  of  the  sec 
ond  bell  and  the  entrance  of  the  men.  After  church,  custom 
would  still  reign,  and  all  alike  would  linger,  laugh,  and  talk 
beneath  the  trees,  while  the  coaches  drew  up  slowly  and 
the  grooms  brought  the  saddle-horses  from  the  rack,  and 


338  LEWIS   RAND 

those  who  meant  to  walk  gathered  courage  for  the  dusty 
venture. 

Jacqueline  Rand  and  Unity  Dandridge,  the  one  in  her 
customary  white,  the  other  in  a  blue  that  marvellously  set 
off  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  brilliant  bloom,  entered  Saint 
John's  together  and  passed  up  the  aisle  to  a  seat  halfway 
between  door  and  pulpit.  By  some  miscalculation  of  Unity's 
they  were  very  early,  a  fact  which  presently  brought  a  whis 
pered  ejaculation  of  annoyance  from  Miss  Dandridge.  "I 
love  a  flutter  when  I  come  in  and  the  knowledge  that  I  Ve 
turned  every  head  —  and  here  we  Ve  entered  an  empty 
church!  Heigho!  Nothing  to  do  for  half  an  hour." 

"Read  your  prayer  book,"  suggested  Jacqueline.  "Oh! 
does  it  open  just  there  as  easily  as  all  that  ? " 

"It  always  did  open  just  there,"  answered  Miss  Dandridge. 
"  It 's  something  in  the  binding.  Heigho !  '  Love,  honour,  and 
obey/  Obey!" 

"Your  entrance,"  said  her  cousin,  "was  not  entirely  un 
seen,  and  here  comes  one  whose  head  is  certainly  turned." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Unity,  and  hastily  closed  the  prayer 
book  as  Fairfax  Gary  entered  the  pew  behind  them. 

Jacqueline  turned  and  greeted  the  young  man  with  a 
smile.  There  was  now  between  Greenwood  and  Roselands, 
between  the  house  on  Shockoe  Hill  and  the  quarters  of  the 
Carys  at  the  Swan,  a  profound  breach,  an  almost  utter  divi 
sion.  Lewis  Rand  and  Ludwell  Gary  were  private  as  well 
as  political  enemies,  and  all  men  knew  as  much.  There  had 
been  no  attempt  on  the  part  of  either  to  conceal  the  fact  of 
the  duel  in  November.  Their  world  of  town  and  country 
surmised  and  conjectured,  volubly  or  silently,  according  to 
company,  drew  its  conclusions,  and  chose  its  colours.  The 
conclusions  were  largely  false,  for  it  occurred  to  no  one  —  at 
least  outside  of  Fontenoy  —  to  connect  the  quarrel  and  the 


OLD  SAINT  JOHN'S  339 

duel  with  the  President's  proclamation  and  the  Burr  con 
spiracy.  During  the  past  winter  Gary  had  been  much  in 
Albemarle,  little  in  Richmond,  and  the  encounters  of  the  two 
had  not  been  frequent.  In  the  spring,  however,  matters 
had  brought  him  to  the  city,  and  in  the  fever  and  excitement 
of  the  ensuing  summer  he  and  Rand  were  often  thrown  into 
company.  When  this  was  the  case,  they  spoke  with  a  bare 
and  cold  civility,  and  left  each  other's  neighbourhood  as 
soon  as  circumstances  permitted.  Gary  came,  of  course,  no 
more  to  the  house  on  Shockoe  Hill.  Jacqueline,  remaining 
in  town  through  the  summer  because  her  husband  remained, 
saw  him  now  and  again  in  some  public  place  or  gathering. 
He  bowed  low  and  she  inclined  her  head,  but  they  did  not 
speak.  Her  heart  was  hot  and  pained.  She  had  pleaded  that 
afternoon  in  the  cedar  wood  for  his  better  understanding  of 
Lewis,  and  to  what  purpose  ?  —  an  open  quarrel  and  a  duel ! 
She  did  not  want  to  speak;  she  wanted  to  forget  him. 

But  for  Fairfax  Gary,  friend  and  shadow  though  he  was  of 
the  elder  brother,  her  feeling  was  different.  He  was  a  man  to 
be  liked  for  himself,  and  he  loved  and  was  to  marry  Unity. 
He  adopted  his  brother's  quarrel:  he  and  Lewis  barely  spoke, 
and  that  despite  the  fact  that  Lewis  had  for  him  a  strange 
half-grim,  half- vexed  admiration;  he  came  no  more  than  the 
elder  Gary  to  the  house  on  Shockoe;  but  when  they  met 
abroad,  Jacqueline  was  sure  of  some  greeting,  half  gay,  half 
stiff,  some  talk  of  Fontenoy,  some  exchange  of  sentiment 
upon  one  topic  dear  to  each,  some  chivalrous  compliment  to 
herself.  He  made  a  gallant  and  devoted  lover,  and  Jacque 
line  could  not  but  applaud  Unity's  choice  and  feel  for  him  an 
almost  unmixed  kindness. 

Because  of  the  trial,  which  drew  friends,  kindred,  and  ac 
quaintances  to  Richmond,  the  marriage,  which  was  to  have 
been  celebrated  in  August,  had  been  postponed  to  September. 


340  LEWIS   RAND 

Unity  came  to  town  for  a  month  and  stayed  with  her  cousin. 
Her  lover  would  not  enter  Lewis  Rand's  house,  nor  did  she 
ask  him  to  do  so.  Her  kindred  in  Richmond  were  numerous, 
and  they  might  and  did  meet  in  a  score  of  Federalist  man 
sions,  at  various  places  of  entertainment,  and,  as  now,  at 
church. 

He  answered  Jacqueline's  welcome  and  Miss  Dandridge's 
bright  blush  and  brief  "  How  d'  ye  do  ? "  with  the  not-too- 
profound  bow,  the  subdued  and  deprecatory  smile,  and  the 
comparative  absence  of  compliment  that  church  demanded, 
then,  seating  himself,  leaned  forward  with  his  arm  upon 
the  back  of  their  pew  and  entered  into  low-toned  conver 
sation. 

"They  were  early."  —  "Yes:  too  early!"  — "So  much 
the  better,  for  now  they  could  see  all  the  famous  folk  enter. 
Army,  Navy,  Law,  and  Letters  are  all  coming  to  church. 
To-morrow  is  the  indictment." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Jacqueline;  and  Unity,  "They  say  he 
held  a  levee  at  the  Penitentiary  yesterday.  Personally,  I  prefer 
a  surly  traitor  to  one  who  is  so  affable,  smiling,  and  witty." 

"I  also,"  agreed  her  lover.  " But  Colonel  Burr  is  no  Grand 
Seigneur  of  a  traitor  out  of  the  dismal  romances  that  you 
read  !  He  meant  no  harm  —  not  he !  His  ideas  of  meum  and 
tuum  may  be  vague,  but  when  all 's  said,  he  Js  the  most  cour 
teous  gentleman  and  a  boon  companion !  I  think  that  we  are 
well-nigh  the  only  Federalists  in  town  who  have  not  forgotten 
that  this  man  slew  Hamilton,  and  who  keep  the  fact  in  mind 
that,  defend  him  as  they  please,  his  counsel  cannot  say,  *  He 
loved  his  country  and  wished  no  other  empire ! '  After  the 
indictment  to-morrow,  Hay  will  speak  and  the  Government 
begin  to  call  its  witnesses.  Who  is  this  coming  in  —  the  lady 
with  Mrs.  Carrington  ?  Look !  It 's  Burr's  daughter  —  it 's 
Mrs.  Alston!" 


OLD   SAINT  JOHN'S  341 

"She's  a  brave  woman,"  said  Unity.  "One  can't  but  hon 
our  such  spirit,  courage,  and  loyalty.  She 's  dressed  as  if  it 
were  a  gala  day!" 

"If  you'll  let  me  pass,"  whispered  Jacqueline,  "I  will 
speak  to  her.  We  met  at  the  Amblers'  the  other  night. 
There's  an  anxious  heart  behind  that  fine  fire!" 

She  rose  and,  slipping  past  Unity,  moved  up  the  aisle  to 
the  Carrington  pew.  The  two  left  behind  looked  after  the 
gliding  white  figure  in  silence.  Unity  sighed.  "To  me  Lewis 
Rand's  like  a  giant,  and  she's  like  his  captive.  And  yet  — 
and  yet  there 's  much  that 's  likeable  in  the  giant,  and  I  can 
perfectly  well  see  how  the  captive  might  adore  him ! " 

"I  can't,"  retorted  the  other.  "I'll  grant  his  ability,  but 
there 's  a  little  worm  at  the  heart !  Even  his  genius  will  one 
day  turn  against  him;  it  is  the  tree  too  tall  that  falls  the 
soonest.  He 's  not  coming  here  to-day  ? " 

"No.  He's  out  of  town.  All  the  Republican  papers  are 
wondering  why  the  President  did  not  include  him  among  the 
counsel  for  the  Government." 

"I  dare  say,"  said  the  younger  Gary  grimly.  "Well,  that 
would  have  been  an  entertainment  worth  hearing,  that 
speech  for  the  prosecution!" 

"Don't  let's  talk  of  him  any  more.  I  feel  a  traitor  to 
Jacqueline  when  I  do.  How  slow  the  people  are  in  coming ! " 

"They  may  stay  away  as  long  as  they  please,"  murmured 
her  lover.  "I  like  a  quiet  time  for  worship  before  all  the  fuss 
and  flutter.  You  should  always  wear  blue,  Unity." 

"You  told  me  yesterday  that  I  should  always  wear  pink. 
At  last,  here  enters  a  man!" 

"It  is  Winfield  Scott,  just  up  from  Williamsburgh.  He 
does  n't  like  the  law  and  will  go  into  the  army.  Here  are  all 
the  Randolphs  and  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Peyton!" 

Unity  moved   to   let   Jacqueline   reenter  the   pew.    The 


342  LEWIS   RAND 

church  was  beginning  to  fill,  and  the  whispering  and  noise 
of  fluttering  fans  increased.  All  the  windows  were  open  to 
the  breeze,  and  the  soft  scents  and  sounds  and  colours,  the 
dimness  within  the  church,  and  the  August  skies  and  wav 
ing  trees  without,  combined  to  give  a  drowsy,  mellow,  and 
enchanted  air  to  old  Saint  John's  and  to  the  gathering 
people. 

"The  choir  have  come  into  the  gallery,"  said  Fairfax 
Gary.  "I  hear  the  scrape  of  Fitzwhyllson's  viol." 

"The  quiet  is  over  and  here  comes  the  world,"  answered 
Jacqueline.  "Who  is  that  with  Mr.  Wickham  —  the  tall, 
lean  man  ?" 

"It  is  the  Governor  of  Tennessee  and  a  fire-eater  for 
Burr  —  Andrew  Jackson  by  name.  The  third  man  is  Luther 
Martin." 

"He  may  be  learned  in  the  law,"  murmured  Unity,  "but 
I  would  like  to  know  the  University  that  taught  him  dress. 
See,  Jacqueline,  Charlotte  Foushee  has  the  newest  bonnet 
yet!" 

"That  is  Commodore  Truxtun  coming  in  with  Edmund 
Randolph.  He  looks  a  seaman,  every  inch  of  him !  Who  is 
the  young  gentleman  in  blue  ? " 

"Oh,  that,"  replied  Unity,  "is  Mr.  Washington  Irving  of 
New  York.  He  has  just  returned  from  the  Grand  Tour,  and 
he  writes  most  beautifully.  He  has  sent  me  an  acrostic  for 
my  keepsake  that  —  that  — ' 

"That  I  could  not  have  written  had  I  tried  till  dooms 
day,"  finished  Fairfax  Cary.  "Do  you  like  acrostics,  Mrs. 
Rand?" 

Jacqueline  smiled.  "No,  nor  keepsakes  either.  Unity  and 
I  both  like  strong  prose  and  books  with  meanings.  Her 
fa$ons  de  parler  are  many." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Miss  Dandridge,  "I  like  Mr.  Wash- 


OLD   SAINT   JOHN'S  343 

ington  Irving.  He  doesn't  only  write  acrostics;  he  writes 
prose  as  well.  Here  is  the  Chief  Justice." 

"The  second  bell  is  ringing.  We'll  have  all  the  church 
yard  now.  Here  comes  the  Tenth  Legion  —  Hay,  Wirt,  and 
McRae !  Mark  Wirt  bow  to  Martin ! " 

"Will  General  Wilkinson  be  here?" 

"Speak  of  —  one  that's  often  named  in  church  —  and  see 
the  waving  of  his  red  cockfeather !  This  is  the  General  now. 
Ahem !  he  looks  what  he  is." 

"And  the  other  with  the  sash  ?" 

"Eaton.  They  are  both  tarred  with  the  same  brush! 
Here,  coming  toward  us,  is  one  of  very  different  make !  You 
met  him  yesterday,  did  you  not  ?  Ha !  Captain  Decatur, 
allow  me  to  give  you  anchorage ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  held  open  the  pew  door.  Captain  Stephen 
Decatur  smiled,  bowed,  and  entered,  and  was  presently 
greeting  with  a  manly,  frank,  and  engaging  manner  the 
beautiful  Mrs.  Rand  and  the  equally  lovely  Miss  Dandridge, 
to  both  of  whom  he  had  been  presented  at  an  evening  enter 
tainment.  The  church  was  now  filled  and  the  bell  ceased 
ringing.  From  the  gallery  came  the  deeper  growl  of  the  bass 
viol  and  the  preliminary  breath  of  a  flute.  A  moment  more 
and  the  minister  walked  up  the  aisle  and,  mounting  the  tall 
old  pulpit,  invoked  a  blessing,  then  gave  out  in  a  fine  mellow 
voice  with  a  strong  Scotch  accent :  — 

"The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue,  ethereal  sky 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 
Their  great  Original  proclaim." 

The  choir  in  the  gallery,  viol,  flute,  and  voices,  took  up  the 
strain,  and  the  congregation  beneath  following  in  their  turn, 
there  arose  and  floated  through  the  windows  a  veritable 
paean,  so  sweet  and  loud  that  the  boatmen  on  the  river  heard. 


344  LEWIS   RAND 

On  went  the  service  until  the  sermon  was  reached,  and  on 
went  the  sermon  from  " firstly "  to  "eighteenthly  and  last, 
my  brethren."  The  sermon  was  upon  Charity,  and  included 
no  allusion  to  the  topic  of  the  day  uppermost  in  men's  minds, 
for  this  minister  never  evinced  any  party  spirit,  and  thought 
politics  not  his  province.  The  discourse  ended,  the  plate  was 
carried  and  the  benediction  given,  whereupon,  after  a  deco 
rous  pause,  the  congregation  streamed  forth  to  the  green  and 
warm  churchyard. 

Here  it  broke  into  groups,  flowery  bright  on  the  part  of  the 
women,  gallant  and  gay  enough  on  the  side  of  the  attending 
gentlemen.  The  broad  path  was  like  the  unfolding  of  a 
figured  ribbon,  and  the  sward  on  either  hand  like  sprinkled 
taffeta.  The  sky  between  the  large  white  clouds  showed 
bluer  than  blue,  and  the  leaves  of  the  sycamores  trembled 
in  a  small,  refreshing  breeze.  The  birds  were  silent,  but  the 
insect  world  filled  with  its  light  voice  the  space  between  all 
other  sounds.  Outside  the  gate  coaches  and  horses  waited. 
There  was  no  hurry;  the  ribbon  unrolled  but  slowly,  and  the 
blossomy  knots  upon  the  taffeta  as  leisurely  shifted  position. 

Theodosia  Alston  and  Jacqueline  came  out  of  church 
together,  in  a  cluster  of  Carringtons  and  Amblers.  Besides 
her  affianced,  Unity  had  for  company  Captain  Decatur,  Mr. 
Irving,  and  Mr.  Scott.  The  throng,  pressing  between,  sepa 
rated  the  cousins.  Aaron  Burr's  daughter,  though  she  talked 
and  laughed  with  spirit  and  vivacity,  was  so  evidently  anxious 
to  be  away  that  the  friend  with  whom  she  had  come  made 
haste  down  the  path  to  their  waiting  coach.  Jacqueline, 
meaning  to  tarry  but  a  moment  beside  the  woman  for  whom 
all,  of  whatever  party,  had  only  admiration  and  sympathy, 
found  herself  drawn  along  the  path  to  the  gate.  The  Car- 
rington  coach  rolled  away,  and  she  was  left  almost  alone  in 
the  sunny  lower  end  of  the  churchyard. 


OLD   SAINT  JOHN'S  345 

The  ribbon  was  unrolling  toward  her,  and  she  waited,  glad 
of  the  moment's  quiet.  She  saw  Unity's  forget-me-not  blue, 
and  Charlotte  Foushee's  bonnet,  piquant  and  immense,  and 
Mrs.  Randolph's  lilac  lutestring,  and  all  the  blue  and  green 
and  wine-coloured  coats  of  the  men  moving  toward  her  as  in 
a  summer  dream,  gay  midges  in  a  giant  shaft  of  sunlight. 
A  great  bee  droned  past  her  to  the  honeysuckle  upon  the 
wall  against  which  she  leaned.  She  watched  the  furred  crea 
ture,  barred  and  golden,  and  thought  suddenly  of  the  bees 
about  the  mimosa  on  the  Three-Notched  Road. 

A  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  a  responsible  and  benevolent 
cast  of  countenance,  came  up  to  her.  "A  very  good  day  to 
you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Rand!" 

"And  to  you,  Colonel  Nicholas." 

"You  are  of  my  mind.  You  do  not  care  to  dilly-dally  after 
church.  'T  is  as  bad  as  a  London  rout,  where  you  move  an 
inch  an  hour.  Well,  there  are  men  here  to-day  who  have 
made  some  stir  in  the  world !  Do  you  go  to-morrow  to  the 
Capitol?" 

"Yes.  My  cousin  and  I  have  seats  with  Mrs.  Wick- 
ham." 

"It  will  not  be  such  a  trial  as  was  Warren  Hastings's. 
Yet  it  will  have  its  value  both  to  the  eye  and  the  ear.  If  it 
were  possible,  I  would  have  there  every  young  boy  in  town. 
Is  Mr.  Rand  at  home  ?" 

"No.    He  is  in  Williamsburgh  for  several  days." 

The  gentleman  hesitated.  "Vexatious!  I  have  something 
for  his  own  hand,  and  I  myself  go  out  of  town  after  to 
morrow.  It  may  be  important — ' 

"Cannot  I  give  it  to  him  ?" 

"It  is  a  small  packet,  or  letter,  from  the  President.  He 
sent  it  to  me  by  a  private  messenger,  with  a  note  asking  me  to 
do  him  the  friendly  service  to  place  it  directly  in  Mr.  Rand's 


346  LEWIS   RAND 

hand.  I  have  it  with  me,  as  I  thought  I  might  meet  Mr. 
Rand  here." 

"  He  will  hardly  return  before  Wednesday.  When  he  comes, 
I  will  give  him  the  letter  with  pleasure." 

The  other  took  from  his  pocket  a  thick  letter,  strongly 
sealed,  and  addressed  in  Jefferson's  fine,  precise  hand.  "I 
must  be  away  from  Richmond  for  a  week  or  more,  and  the 
matter  may  be  important.  I  can  conceive  no  reason  why,  so 
that  it  be  put  directly  into  Mr.  Rand's  hand,  one  agent  should 
be  better  than  another.  I'll  confide  it  to  you,  Mrs.  Rand." 

"I  will  do  as  the  President  directs,  Colonel  Nicholas,  and 
will  give  it  to  my  husband  the  moment  he  returns." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  he  laid  the  packet  in  it.  Hanging 
from  her  arm  by  a  rose-coloured  ribbon  was  a  small  bag  of  old 
brocade.  This  she  opened,  and  slipped  into  the  silken  depths 
the  President's  somewhat  heavy  missive.  "He  shall  have  it 
on  Wednesday,"  she  said. 

The  dispersing  congregation  touched  and  claimed  them. 
Mr.  Wirt  and  Commodore  Truxtun  bore  off  her  companion, 
and  she  herself,  after  a  moment  of  gay  talk  with  all  the  Ran 
dolphs,  rejoined  Unity  and  her  court.  Fairfax  Cary  called 
their  coach,  and  Captain  Decatur  and  Mr.  Irving  and  Mr. 
Scott  saw  them  in,  and  still  talked  at  the  lowered  windows 
until  Big  Isham  on  the  box,  with  a  loud  crack  of  his  whip, 
put  the  greys  in  motion. 

The  coach  went  slowly  down  the  hill.  Unity  yawned  and 
waved  her  fan.  "I  like  Captain  Decatur.  Think  of  sailing 
into  a  tropic  harbour  and  destroying  the  Philadelphia  on 
a  day  like  this!  Lend  me  your  fan;  it  is  larger  than  mine. 
What  have  you  in  your  bag?" 

"My  prayer  book,  and  something  that  Colonel  Nicholas 
gave  me  for  Lewis.  I  could  think  only  of  Theodosia  Alston, 
and  of  how  long  to-night  will  be  to  her ! " 


OLD  SAINT  JOHN'S  347 

"She  believes  that  he  will  be  acquitted." 

"She  does  not  know,  and  pictures  of  what  we  fear  are 
dreadful!  Knowledge  is  like  death  sometimes,  but  not  to 
know  is  like  frightened  dying!  Oh,  warm,  warm !  I  shall  be 
glad  when  it  is  all  over  and  we  leave  Richmond  for  the 
mountains  and  the  streams  again,  and  for  your  wedding, 
dearest  heart!" 

"Oh,  my  wedding!"  said  Unity.  "My  wedding's  like  a 
dream.  I  don't  believe  I'm  going  to  have  any  wedding!" 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    TRIAL    OF   AARON    BURR 

AT  an  early  hour  the  crowd  in  the  Hall  of  the  House 
of  Delegates  was  very  great,  and  as  it  drew  toward 
the  time  when  the  principals  in  the  drama  would  ap 
pear,  the  press  of  the  people  and  the  heat  of  the  August  day 
grew  well-nigh  intolerable.  In  the  gallery  were  many  women, 
and  their  diaphanous  gowns  and  the  incessant  flutter  of  their 
fans  imparted  to  this  portion  of  the  Hall  a  pale  illusion  of 
comfort.  In  the  hall  below,  men  stood  upon  the  window-sills, 
choked  the  entrances,  crowded  the  corridors  without.  Not 
only  was  there  a  throng  where  something  might  be  heard 
and  seen,  but  the  portico  of  the  Capitol  had  its  numbers, 
and  the  green  surrounding  slopes  a  concourse  avid  of  what 
news  the  birds  might  bring.  Within  and  without,  the  heat 
was  extreme,  even  for  August  in  Tidewater  Virginia ;  an  at 
mosphere  sultry  and  boding,  tense  with  the  feeling  of  an 
approaching  storm. 

In  the  gallery,  beside  Unity  and  Mrs.  Wickham,  around 
her  women  of  Federalist  families  who  were  loath  to  believe 
any  one  guilty  who  was  prosecuted,  or  persecuted,  by  the 
present  Government,  and  women  of  Republican  houses  who 
asserted,  while  they  waved  their  fans,  that,  being  guilty, 
Aaron  Burr  must  be,  should  be,  would  be  hanged!  sat 
Jacqueline  Rand,  and  wondered  somewhat  at  her  weakness 
in  coming  there  that  day.  It  had  been,  perhaps,  in  the  last 
analysis,  a  painful  curiosity,  a  vague  desire  to  see  the  place, 
the  men,  all  the  circumstance  and  environment,  with  which 
her  husband  —  she  thanked  God  with  every  breath  —  had 


THE   TRIAL   OF  AARON   BURR          349 

no  connection !  He  might  have  had  here  his  part,  she  knew 
tremulously;  it  might  have  been  his  role  to  stand  here  beside 
Aaron  Burr,  and,  with  a  passionately  humble  and  grateful 
heart,  she  nursed  the  memory  of  that  winter  night  when  he 
had  sworn  to  her  that  from  that  hour  he  and  this  enterprise 
should  be  strangers. 

There  had  been  days  and  weeks  of  preliminaries  to  the 
actual  trial  for  high  treason,  but  she  had  not  before  been  in 
this  hall.  All  her  delicacy  shrank  from  the  thought  of  sitting 
here  beside  her  husband,  conscious  of  his  consciousness  that 
she  knew  all  that  might  have  been,  and  saw  in  fancy  more 
prisoners  at  the  bar  than  one.  No  man  would  like  that.  He 
had  come  often  to  the  Capitol  during  the  days  of  skirmish 
ing  prior  to  the  general  engagement ;  had  he  not  done  so,  it 
would  have  been  at  once  remarked.  She  expressed  no  desire 
to  accompany  him,  nor  did  he  ever  ask  her  to  do  so.  She  was 
aware  of  the  general  surprise  that  he  had  no  place  among 
the  Government  counsel.  Whether  or  not  such  place  had 
been  offered  to  him,  pressed  upon  him,  she  did  not  know,  but 
she  thought  it  possible  that  this  was  the  case.  If  so,  he  had 
refused  as  was  right.  Acceptance,  she  knew,  would  have 
been  impossible. 

All  through  these  months  there  had  been  between  them  a 
silent  pact,  a  covenant  to  avoid  all  superfluous  mention  of  the 
topic  which  met  them  on  every  hand,  from  every  mouth,  in  • 
every  letter  or  printed  sheet.  Rand  was  much  occupied  with 
important  cases,  much  in  demand  in  various  portions  of  the 
state,  much  away  from  home.  She  was  not  a  woman  to 
demand  as  her  right  entrance  into  every  chamber  of  another's 
soul.  Her  own  had  its  hushed  rooms,  its  reticences,  its  altars 
built  to  solitude;  she  was  aware  that  beyond,  below,  above 
the  fair  chamber  where  he  entertained  her  were  other  spaces 
in  her  husband's  nature.  Into  some  she  looked  as  through 


350  LEWIS   RAND 

open  door  and  clear  windows,  but  others  were  closed  to  her, 
and  she  was  both  too  proud  and  too  pure  of  thought  to 
search  for  keys  that  had  not  been  offered  her. 

She  knew  that  her  husband  had  not  meant  to  be  absent 
from  Richmond  that  day.  An  unexpected  turn  in  the  case  he 
was  conducting  had  compelled  his  presence  in  Williamsburgh, 
and  on  the  other  hand,  in  Richmond,  the  labour  of  finding 
an  impartial  jury  had  been  brought  to  a  sudden  end  by 
Burr's  coup  de  main  in  refusing  to  challenge  and  calmly 
accepting  as  prejudiced  a  twelve  as  perhaps,  in  the  United 
States  of  America,  ever  decided  whether  a  man  should  live 
or  die.  The  move  had  hastened  the  day  when  the  Govern 
ment  was  to  begin  its  cannonade. 

Lewis  was  yet  in  Williamsburgh.  Had  he  been  present  in 
this  hall,  watching  events  with  his  fellow  lawyers,  fellow 
politicians,  fellow  countrymen,  who  knew  nothing  of  one 
snowy  night  a  year  ago  last  February,  his  wife,  for  both  their 
sakes,  would  have  remained  away.  As  it  was,  she  had  been 
persuaded.  Unity  would  not  for  much  have  missed  the  spec 
tacle,  friends  had  been  pressing,  and  at  last  her  own  pain 
ful  interest  prevailed.  She  was  here  now,  and  she  sat  as  in 
a  waking  dream,  her  hands  idle,  her  eyes,  wide  and  dark, 
steadily  fixed  upon  the  scene  below.  She  saw,  leaning  against 
a  window,  Ludwell  Gary,  and,  the  centre  of  a  cluster  of  men 
in  hunting-shirts,  Adam  Gaudylock. 

The  Capitol  clock  struck  twelve.  As  the  last  stroke  died 
upon  the  feverish  air,  the  Chief  Justice  entered  the  Hall  and 
took  the  Speaker's  chair.  Beside  him  was  Cyrus  Griffin,  the 
District  Judge.  Hay,  the  District  Attorney,  with  his  associ 
ates  William  Wirt  and  Alexander  McRae,  now  appeared, 
and  immediately  afterward  the  imposing  array  of  the  pris 
oner's  counsel,  a  phalanx  which  included  no  less  than  four 
sometime  Attorneys-General  and  two  subalterns  of  note. 


THE  TRIAL   OF  AARON   BURR          351 

These  took  the  seats  reserved  for  them ;  the  marshal  and  his 
deputies  pressed  the  people  back,  and  the  jury  entered  and 
filled  the  jury  box.  Below  and  near  them  sat  a  medley  of 
witnesses  —  important  folk,  and  folk  whom  only  this  trial 
made  important. 

A  loud  murmur  was  now  heard  from  without;  the  marshal's 
men,  red  and  perspiring,  cleared  a  thread-like  path,  and  the 
prisoner,  accompanied  by  his  son-in-law,  entered  the  Hall. 
He  was  dressed  in  black,  with  carefully  powdered  hair. 
Quiet,  cool,  smiling,  and  collected,  he  was  brought  to  the  bar, 
when,  having  taken  his  place,  bowed  to  the  judges,  and 
greeted  his  counsel,  he  turned  slightly  and  surveyed  with  his 
composed  face  and  his  extremely  keen  black  eyes  the  throng 
that  with  intentness  looked  on  him  in  turn.  It  was  by  no 
means  their  first  encounter  of  eyes.  The  preliminaries  of  that 
famous  trial  had  been  many  and  prolonged.  From  the  pris 
oner's  arrival  in  April  under  military  escort  to  the  present 
moment,  through  the  first  arraignment  at  that  bar,  the 
assembling  of  the  Grand  Jury,  the  tedious  waiting  for  Wil 
kinson's  long-deferred  arrival  from  New  Orleans,  the  matter 
of  the  subpoena  to  the  President  with  which  the  country  rang, 
the  adjournment  from  June  to  August,  the  victory  gained  by 
the  defence  in  the  exclusion  of  Wilkinson's  evidence,  and  the 
clamour  of  the  two  camps  into  which  the  city  was  divided,  — 
through  all  this  had  been  manifest  the  prisoner's  deliberate 
purpose  and  attempt  to  make  every  fibre  of  a  personality 
ingratiating  beyond  that  of  most,  tell  in  its  own  behalf.  He 
had  able  advocates,  but  none  more  able  than  Aaron  Burr. 
His  day  and  time  was,  on  the  whole,  a  time  astonishingly 
fluid  and  naive,  and  he  impressed  it. 

There  was  in  this  moment,  therefore,  no  novelty  of  en 
counter  between  him  and  the  stare  of  the  opposing  throng. 
He  was  not  seeing  them,  nor  they  him,  for  the  first  time.  Yet 


352  LEWIS   RAND 

the  situation  had  its  high  intensity.  This  day  was  the  be 
ginning  of  the  actual  trial,  and  only  the  day  which  brought 
the  verdict  could  outweigh  it  in  importance.  This  was  the 
lighting  of  the  lamp  that  was  to  search  out  mysteries;  this  was 
the  bending  of  the  bow ;  this  was  the  first  rung  of  the  ladder 
which  might  lead  —  where  ?  As  John  Marshall's  voice  was 
heard  from  the  bench  and  the  prisoner  turned  from  his 
steadfast  contemplation  of  the  throng,  a  psychic  wave  over 
flowed  and  lifted  all  the  great  assembly.  This  was  spectacle, 
this  was  drama !  The  oldest  of  all  the  first  principles  stirred 
under  the  stimulus,  and  with  savage  naturalness  sucked  in 
the  sense  of  pageant. 

The  court  was  opened.  Counsel  on  both  sides  brought 
forward  and  disposed  of  a  minor  point  or  two,  then,  amid  a 
silence  so  great  that  the  twittering  of  the  martins  outside  the 
windows  seemed  importunate  and  shrill,  proclamation  was 
made,  the  prisoner  stood  up,  and  the  indictment  was  read. 

"  The  grand  inquest  of  the  United  States  of  America  for  the 
Virginia  District  upon  their  oath  do  present  that  Aaron  Burr, 
late  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  State  of  New  Tork,  attorney- 
at-law,  being  an  inhabitant  of  and  residing  within  the  United 
States,  and  under  the  protection  of  the  laws  of  the  United  States, 
and  owing  allegiance  and  fidelity  to  the  same  United  States,  not 
having  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes,  nor  weighing  the  duty 
of  his  said  allegiance,  but  being  moved  and  seduced  by  the 
instigation  of  the  Devil,  wickedly  devising  and  intending  the 
peace  and  tranquillity  of  the  said  United  States  to  disturb,  and 
to  stir,  move,  and  excite  insurrection,  rebellion,  and  war  against 
the  said  United  States,  on  the  tenth  day  of  December,  in  the 
year  of  Christ  one  thousand,  eight  hundred  and  six,  at  a  certain 
place  called  and  known  by  the  name  of  Blennerhas sett's  Island, 
in  the  county  of  Wood  and  District  of  Virginia  aforesaid,  and 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  this  court,  with  force  and  arms, 


THE   TRIAL   OF   AARON   BURR          353 

unlawfully,  falsely,  maliciously,  and  traitorously  did  compass, 
imagine,  and  intend  to  raise  and  levy  war,  insurrection,  and 
rebellion  against  the  said  United  States  —  " 

And  so  on  through  much  thunderous  repetition  to  the 
final, — 

"  And  the  said  Aaron  Burr  with  the  said  persons  as  aforesaid 
traitorously  assembled  and  armed  and  arranged  in  manner 
aforesaid,  most  wickedly,  maliciously,  and  traitorously  did 
ordain,  prepare,  and  levy  war  against  the  said  United  States, 
and  further  to  fulfil  and  carry  into  effect  the  said  traitorous 
comp as sings,  imaginings,  and  intentions  of  him  the  said 
Aaron  Burr,  and  to  carry  on  the  war  thus  levied  as  aforesaid 
against  the  United  States,  the  said  Aaron  Burr  with  the  multi 
tude  last  mentioned,  at  the  island  aforesaid,  in  the  said  county 
of  Wood  within  the  Virginia  District  aforesaid,  and  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  this  court,  did  array  themselves  in  a  warlike 
manner,  with  guns  and  other  weapons,  offensive  and  defensive, 
and  did  proceed  from  the  said  island  down  the  river  Ohio  in  the 
county  aforesaid,  within  the  Virginia  District,  and  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  this  court,  on  the  said  eleventh  day  of  December, 
in  the  year  one  thousand,  eight  hundred  and  six  aforesaid,  with 
the  wicked  and  traitorous  intention  to  descend  the  said  river 
and  the  river  Mississippi,  and  by  force  and  arms  traitorously 
to  take  possession  of  the  city  commonly  called  New  Orleans,  in 
the  territory  of  Orleans,  belonging  to  the  United  States,  con 
trary  to  the  duty  of  their  said  allegiance  and  fidelity,  against 
the  Constitution,  peace,  and  dignity  of  the  United  States  and 
against  the  form  of  the  Act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States  in 
such  case  made  and  provided" 

The  clerk  ceased  to  read.  When  the  last  sonorous  word 
had  died  upon  the  air,  the  audience  yet  sat  or  stood  in  silence, 
bent  a  little  forward,  in  the  attitude  of  listeners.  This  lasted 
an  appreciable  moment,  then  the  tension  snapped.  Marshall 


354  LEWIS   RAND 

moved  slightly  in  his  great  chair,  Judge  Griffin  coughed,  a 
rustling  sound  and  a  deep  breath  ran  through  the  Hall.  The 
prisoner,  who  had  faced  with  the  most  perfect  composure  the 
indictment's  long  thunder,  now  slightly  inclined  his  head  to 
the  Judges  and  took  his  seat.  His  counsel,  ostentatiously 
easy  and  smiling,  gathered  about  him,  and  the  District 
Attorney  rose  to  open  for  the  Government  in  a  lengthy  and 
able  speech. 

In  the  gallery,  among  the  fluttering  fans,  Jacqueline  asked 
herself  if  her  rising  and  quitting  the  place  would  disturb 
those  about  her.  She  was  in  the  very  front,  beside  the  gallery 
rail,  there  was  a  great  crowd  behind,  she  must  stay  it  out. 
She  bit  her  lip,  forced  back  emotion,  strove  with  resolution 
to  conquer  the  too  visionary  aspect  of  all  things  before  her. 
It  had  been  foolish,  she  knew  now,  to  come.  She  had  not 
dreamed  with  what  strong  and  feverish  grasp  such  a  scene 
could  take  prisoner  the  imagination.  She  saw  too  plainly 
much  that  was  not  there;  she  brought  other  figures  into  the 
Hall;  abstractions  and  realities,  they  thronged  the  place.  The 
place  itself  widened  until  to  her  inner  sense  it  was  as  wide  as 
her  world  and  her  life.  Fontenoy  was  there  and  the  house  on 
the  Three-Notched  Road;  Roselands,  and  much  besides.  For 
all  the  heat,  and  the  fluttering  of  the  fans,  and  the  roll  of 
declamation  from  the  District  Attorney,  who  was  now  upon 
the  definition  of  treason,  one  night  in  February  was  there  as 
well,  the  night  that  had  seen  so  much  imperilled,  the  night 
that  had  seen,  thank  God  !  the  cloud  go  by.  Of  all  the  images 
that  thronged  upon  her,  creating  a  strange  tumult  of  the  soul, 
darkening  her  eyes  and  driving  the  faint  colour  from  her 
cheek,  the  image  of  that  evening  was  the  most  insistent.  It 
was,  perhaps,  aided  by  her  fancy  that  in  that  cool  survey  of 
the  Hall  in  which  the  prisoner  indulged  himself,  his  eyes, 
keen  and  darting  as  a  snake's,  had  rested  for  a  moment  upon 


THE   TRIAL   OF  AARON   BURR          355 

her  face.  She  could  have  said  that  there  was  in  them  a  curious 
light  of  recognition,  even  a  cool  amusement,  a  sarcasm,  — 
the  very  memory  of  the  look  made  for  her  a  trouble  vague, 
but  deep !  Had  he,  too,  given  a  thought  to  that  evening,  to 
the  man  whom  he  did  not  secure,  and  to  the  woman  with 
whom  he  had  talked  of  black  lace  and  Spanish  songs  ?  She 
wondered.  But  why  should  Colonel  Burr  be  amused,  and  why 
sarcastic  ?  She  abandoned  the  enquiry  and  listened  to  the 
heavy  lumbering  up  of  Government  cannon.  "  Courts  of 
Great  Britain  —  Foster's  Crown  Laws  —  Demaree  and  Pur 
chase  —  Vaughan  —  Lord  George  Gordon  —  Throgmor- 
ton  —  United  States  vs.  Fries  —  Opinion  of  Judge  Chase  — 
Of  Judge  Iredell  —  Overt  Act  —  Overt  Act  proven  —  Arms, 
array  and  treasonable  purpose;  here  is  bellum  levatum  if 
not  bellum  percussum  —  Treason  and  traitors,  not  potential 
but  actual — their  discovery  and  their  punishment  — 

On  boomed  the  guns  of  the  prosecution.  Jacqueline  lis 
tened,  fascinated  for  a  time,  but  the  words  at  last  grew  to 
hurt  her  so  that,  could  she  have  done  so  unobserved,  she 
would  have  stopped  her  ears  with  her  hands.  The  feverish 
interest  of  the  scene  still  held  her  in  its  grasp,  but  the  words 
were  cruel  and  struck  upon  her  heart.  She  could  not  free 
herself  from  the  brooding  thought  of  how  poignant,  how 
burning,  how  deadly  poisonous  they  had  been  to  her,  had 
all  things  been  different  and  she  forced  to  sit  in  this  place 
hearing  them  launched  against  another  than  Aaron  Burr, 
there,  there  at  that  bar !  She  unlocked  her  hands,  drew  a  long 
and  tremulous  breath,  and,  leaning  a  little  forward,  tried  not 
to  listen,  and  to  lose  herself  in  watching  the  throng  below. 
Her  eyes  fell,  at  once,  upon  Ludwell  Cary. 

He  was  standing  where  she  had  before  marked  him,  beside 
a  window  almost  opposite,  his  arm  upon  the  sill,  his  attention 
closely  given  to  the  District  Attorney,  who  was  now  eulogis- 


356  LEWIS   RAND 

ing  that  great  patriot,  General  James  Wilkinson.  Now,  while 
Jacqueline  looked,  he  turned  his  head.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  called  and  he  had  been  ready  with  his  answer. 

Painfully  raised  in  feeling  and  driven  out  of  habitual  cita 
dels,  tense  and  fevered,  subtly  touched  by  the  storm  in  the 
air,  she  found  in  the  moment  no  sense  of  self-consciousness, 
no  question  and  no  movement  of  aversion.  She  and  Gary 
looked  at  each  other  long  and  fully,  and  with  something  of  an 
old  understanding;  on  her  part  a  softening  of  pardon  for  the 
quarrel  and  the  duel,  on  his  a  light  and  compassion  that  she 
could  not  clearly  understand.  She  knew  that  he  read  her 
thoughts,  but  if  he,  too,  was  remembering  that  evening  long 
ago  in  February,  he  must  also  remember  that  Lewis  Rand 
gave  up,  that  snowy  night,  definitely  and  forever,  the  fevered 
ambitions,  the  too-high  imaginings,  the  conqueror's  thirst 
for  power;  gave  them  up,  and  turned  from  the  charmer  into 
the  path  of  right !  There  came  into  her  heart  a  longing  that 
Ludwell  Gary  should  see  the  matter  truly.  He  should  have 
done  so  that  afternoon  in  the  cedar  wood;  where  was  the 
black  mote  that  kept  the  vision  out  ?  She  was  suddenly 
aware  —  and  it  came  to  her  with  a  dizzying  strangeness  — 
that  there  was  in  her  own  soul  that  reference  of  matters  to 
the  bar  of  Gary's  idea,  thought,  and  judgment  which,  that 
day  in  the  cedar  wood,  she  had  told  him  existed  in  that  of  her 
husband.  Were  she  and  Lewis  grown  so  much  alike  ?  or 
had  her  own  soul  always  recognised,  deferred  to,  rested  upon, 
something  in  the  inmost  nature  of  the  man  into  whose  eyes 
she  looked  across  this  thronged  and  fevered  space  —  some 
thing  of  rare  equanimity,  dispassionate  yet  tender,  calm, 
high,  impartial,  and  ideal?  She  did  not  know;  she  had  not 
thought  of  it  before.  Her  eyes  dilated.  Suddenly  she  saw  the 
drawing-room  at  Fontenoy,  green  and  gold  and  cool,  with 
the  portraits  on  the  wall,  —  Edmund  Churchill,  who  fought 


THE   TRIAL  OF  AARON   BURR          357 

with  King  Charles ;  Henry  his  son,  who  fled  to  Virginia  and 
founded  the  family  there;  a  second  Edmund,  aide-de-camp 
to  Marlborough ;  two  Governors  of  Virginia  and  a  President 
of  the  Council ;  the  Lely  and  the  Kneller  —  both  Churchill 
women ;  and  the  fair  face  and  form  of  Grandaunt  Jacqueline 
for  whom  she  was  named.  She  smelled  the  roses  in  the  bowls, 
and  she  saw  herself  singing  at  her  harp.  It  was  a  night  in 
June,  the  night  of  the  great  thunderstorm.  Lewis  Rand  had 
come  down  from  the  blue  room,  and  Ludwell  Cary  entered 
from  the  darkness  of  the  storm. 

"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage." 

Unity's  hand  touched  her.  "Jacqueline,  are  you  tired? 
Would  you  like  to  go  away?" 

The  spell  broke.  Jacqueline  was  most  tired,  and  she 
would  very  much  have  liked  to  go  away,  but  a  glance  at  her 
cousin  and  at  the  lady  with  whom  they  had  come  determined 
the  question.  That  to  both  it  was  as  good  as  a  play,  colour 
and  animation  proclaimed,  and  Jacqueline  had  not  the  heart 
to  ring  the  curtain  down.  She  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 
"We'll  stay  it  out." 

Her  companion  leaned  back,  relieved,  and  she  was  left  to 
herself  again.  She  knew  that  Gary's  eyes  were  still  upon  her, 
but  she  would  not  turn  her  own  that  way.  She  made  herself 
look  at  the  judges  upon  the  bench,  the  District  Attorney,  the 
opposing  lawyers,  even  the  prisoner.  It  was  the  heat  and  the 
thunder  in  the  air  that  made  her  so  tense  and  yet  so  tremu 
lous.  Every  nerve  to-day  was  like  a  harpstring  tightly  drawn 
where  every  wandering  air  must  touch  it.  All  this  would 
soon  be  over  —  then  home  and  quiet !  The  day  was  growing 
old ;  even  now  Mr.  Hay  was  addressing  the  jury  with  an  im- 


358  LEWIS   RAND 

pressiveness  that  announced  the  closing  periods  of  a  speech. 
When  he  was  done,  would  not  the  court  adjourn  until  to 
morrow  ?  It  was  said  the  trial  might  last  two  weeks.  Mr. 
Hay  sat  down,  but  alas !  before  the  applause  and  stir  had 
ceased,  Mr.  Wickham  was  upon  his  feet. 

Mr.  Wirt  followed  Mr.  Wickham,  and  was  followed  in 
turn  by  Luther  Martin.  The  firing  was  heavy.  Boom,  boom ! 
went  the  guns  of  the  Government,  quick  and  withering  came 
the  fire  from  the  defence.  If  advantage  of  position  was  with 
the  first,  the  last  showed  the  higher  generalship.  The  duel 
was  sharp,  and  it  was  followed  by  the  spectators  with  strained 
interest.  The  Chief  Justice  on  the  bench  and  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar,  attentive  though  they  both  were,  alone  of  almost 
all  concerned  seemed  to  watch  the  struggle  calmly.  It  drew 
toward  late  afternoon.  Luther  Martin,  still  upon  the  Overt 
Act,  after  an  ironic  compliment  or  two  to  the  Government 
counsel,  and  a  statement  that  George  Washington,  the  great 
and  the  good,  might  with  a  like  innocency  of  intents  have 
found  himself  in  a  like  position  with  Colonel  Burr,  with 
drew  his  guns  for  the  night.  The  prosecution,  after  a  glare 
of  indignation,  announced  that  on  the  morrow  it  would 
begin  examination  of  witnesses ;  the  Chief  Justice  said  a 
few  weighty  words,  and  the  court  was  adjourned. 

Out  to  the  air,  the  grass  and  the  trees,  the  gleam  of  the  dis 
tant  James,  and  a  tremendous  and  fantastic  show  of  clouds, 
piled  along  the  horizon  and  flushed  by  the  declining  sun, 
streamed  the  crowd.  Excited  and  voluble,  lavish  of  opinions 
that  had  been  pent  up  for  hours,  and  drinking  in  greedily  the 
fresher  air,  it  made  no  haste  to  quit  the  Capitol  portico  or 
the  Capitol  Square.  There  were  friends  and  acquaintances 
to  greet,  noted  people  to  speak  to,  or  to  hear  and  see  others 
speak  to,  the  lawyers  to  congratulate  and  the  judges  to  bow 
to  —  and  last  but  not  least,  there  was  the  prisoner  to  mark 


THE   TRIAL   OF  AARON   BURR          359 

enter,  with  the  marshal,  a  plain  coach  and  drive  away  to  the 
house  opposite  the  Swan,  to  which  he  had  been  removed  from 
his  rooms  in  the  Penitentiary. 

The  women  who  had  observed  the  first  day  of  the  great 
trial  from  the  gallery  made,  of  course,  no  such  tarrying.  They 
left  the  building  and  the  square  at  once,  and  the  men  of 
their  families  present  saw  them  into  their  carriages,  or,  if  the 
distance  home  was  not  great,  watched  them  walk  away  in 
little  groups  with  a  servant  or  two  behind  them. 

At  the  head  of  the  Capitol  steps  Jacqueline  and  Unity 
found  Fairfax  Gary  awaiting  them,  and  upon  the  grass  below 
they  were  joined  by  Mr.  Washington  Irving.  Mrs.  Wickham 
was  with  them,  Mrs.  Carrington,  Mrs.  Ambler,  and  Miss 
Mayo.  All  the  women  lived  within  a  short  distance  of  one 
another,  and  all,  escorted  by  the  two  gentlemen,  would  walk 
the  little  way  across  Capitol  and  Broad  to  Marshall  Street. 
Unity  was  to  take  supper  with  Mrs.  Carrington  and  to  spend 
the  night  with  Mrs.  Ambler,  and  she  would  not  go  home  first, 
unless  —  She  looked  at  Jacqueline.  "Did  the  fireworks 
frighten  you,  honey  ?  Would  you  rather  that  I  stayed  with 
you?" 

Jacqueline  laughed.  "The  fireworks  were  alarming, 
were  n't  they,  Mrs.  Wickham  ?  No,  no;  go  with  Mrs.  Car 
rington,  Unity.  To-night  I  'm  going  to  write  to  Deb  and  read 
a  novel."  They  were  now  opposite  the  Chief  Justice's  house, 
and  as  she  spoke,  she  paused  and  made  a  slight  curtsy  to  the 
elder  ladies.  "Our  ways  part  here." 

"I  will  walk  with  you  to  your  door,"  said  Fairfax  Gary. 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  do  not.  I  am  almost  there." 
Then,  as  his  intention  still  held,  she  continued  in  a  lower 
voice,  "I  had  rather  be  alone.  Obey  me,  please." 

The  small  discussion  ended  in  the  group  of  ladies  and  their 
two  escorts  giving  Jacqueline  Rand  her  way,  and  with  laugh- 


360  LEWIS   RAND 

ing  good-byes  keeping  to  their  course  down  the  street  that  was 
now  bathed  in  the  glow  of  sunset.  She  watched  them  for  a 
moment,  then  turned  her  face  toward  her  own  house.  The 
distance  was  short,  and  she  traversed  it  lightly  and  rapidly, 
glad  to  be  alone,  glad  to  feel  upon  her  brow  the  sunset  wind, 
and  glad  at  the  prospect  of  her  solitary  evening.  She  was 
conscious  of  a  strong  revulsion  of  feeling.  The  sights  and  the 
sounds  of  the  past  hours  were  still  in  mind,  but  all  the  air  had 
changed,  and  was  no  longer  fevered  and  boding.  She  had 
thought  too  much  and  made  too  much,  she  told  herself,  of 
that  vague  and  dark  "It  might  have  been."  It  was  not; 
thank  God,  it  was  not !  And  Lewis,  there  in  Williamsburgh, 
walking  now,  perhaps,  down  Duke  of  Gloucester  Street,  or 
sitting  in  the  Apollo  room  at  the  Raleigh,  —  would  she  have 
had  Lewis  read  her  mind  that  day  ?  Generous !  had  she  been 
generous  —  or  just  ?  The  colour  flowed  over  her  face  and 
throat.  "Neither  just  nor  generous!"  she  cried  to  herself, 
in  a  passion  of  relief.  "I'll  go  no  more  to  that  place!" 

She  reached  her  own  gate,  entered  between  the  two  box 
bushes,  and  mounted  the  steps  to  the  honeysuckle-covered 
porch.  The  door  before  her  was  open,  and  the  hall,  wide  and 
cool,  with  the  tall  clock  and  the  long  sofa,  the  portraits  on  the 
wall  and  a  great  bowl  of  stock  and  gillyflower,  brought  to  her 
senses  a  blissful  feeling  of  home,  of  fixedness  and  peace. 

Mammy  Chloe  came  from  the  back  of  the  house,  and  in  her 
mistress's  chamber  took  from  her  her  straw  bonnet,  gauze 
scarf,  and  filmy  gloves,  then  brought  her  slippers  of  morocco 
and  a  thin,  flowered  house-dress,  narrow  and  fine  as  an 
infant's  robe. 

"Has  Joab  gone  to  the  post-office?"  asked  Jacqueline. 

"Yaas  'm.  De  Williamsbu'gh  stage  done  come,  fer  I  heah 
de  horn  more'n  an  hour  ago.  Dar  Joab  now!" 

Mammy  Chloe  put  down  the  blue  china  ewer,  left  the  room, 


THE  TRIAL   OF   AARON   BURR          361 

and  returned  with  a  letter  in  her  hand.  "Dar,  now!  Marse 
Lewis  ain'  neber  gwine  fergit  you !  Ef  de  sun  shine,  or  ef  hit 
don*  shine,  heah  come  de  letter  jes'  de  same!" 

Jacqueline  took  the  letter  from  her.  "Yes,  Mammy,  yes," 
she  said,  with  a  sweet  and  tremulous  laugh.  "He's  a  good 
master,  is  n't  he  ?" 

"Lawd  knows  I  ain'  neber  had  a  better,"  assented  Mammy 
Chloe.  "  He  powerful  stric'  to  mek  you  min',  is  Marse  Lewis, 
but  he  ain'  de  kin'  what  licks  he  lips  ober  de  fac'  dat  you  is 
a-mindin' !  I  ain'  gwine  say,  honey,  an'  I  neber  is  gwine  say, 
dat  he 's  wuth  what  de  Churchills  is  wuth,  but  I 's  ready  to 
survigerate  dat  he's  got  he  own  wuth.  An'  ef  hit's  enough 
fer  you,  chile,  hit's  enough  fer  yo'  ole  mammy.  Read  yo* 
letter  while  I  puts  on  yo'  slippers." 

Jacqueline  broke  the  seal  and  read :  — 

JACQUELINE:  —  I  am  kept  here  for  an  uncertain  time  — 
worse  luck,  dear  heart !  Do  not  send  what  letters  may  have 
come  for  me,  as  I  may  leave  sooner  than  I  think  for,  and  so 
would  pass  them  on  the  road.  Open  any  from  the  court  in 
Winchester,  where  I  have  a  case  pending  —  if  the  matter 
seems  pressing,  take  a  copy,  and  send  copy  or  original  to  me 
by  to-morrow's  stage.  I  am  expecting  a  letter  from  Washing 
ton  —  an  important  one,  outlining  the  Embargo  measures. 
I  looked  for  it  before  I  left  Richmond.  If  it  has  arrived,  open 
it,  dear  heart,  and  glance  through  it  to  see  if  there  be  any 
message  or  enquiry  which  I  should  have  at  once.  It  is  very 
hot,  very  dusty,  very  tiresome  in  the  court  room.  I  will  leave 
Tom  Mocket  here  to  wind  things  up,  and  will  get  home  as 
soon  as  I  can.  Then,  as  soon  as  the  hurly-burly 's  over,  we'll 
go  to  Roselands  for  a  little  while  —  to  the  calm,  the  peace, 
bright  days  and  white  nights !  While  I  write  here  in  the 
Apollo,  you  are  at  church  in  Saint  John's.  Shall  I  say,  "  Pray 


362  LEWIS   RAND 

for  me,  sweet  saint  ? "  You  '11  do  that  without  my  asking- 
So  I'll  say  instead,  "Think  of  me,  dear  wife,  and  love  me 
still." 

Thine,  LEWIS. 

Jacqueline  stood  up  in  her  faintly  coloured  gown,  all  rich 
light  and  rose  bloom.  From  her  dressing-table  she  took  her 
keys,  and,  opening  her  mother's  desk  of  rosewood  and 
mother-of-pearl,  lifted  from  it  several  letters  and  the  packet 
which  Colonel  Nicholas  had  given  her  the  day  before.  With 
these  in  her  hands  she  left  her  chamber  and  went  into  the 
drawing-room.  "Bring  the  candles,"  she  said  over  her 
shoulder  to  Mammy  Chloe.  "  It  is  growing  too  dark  to  see 
to  read." 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE    LETTER 

THE  windows  were  open  to  the  dusky  rose  of  the  west, 
and  their  long  curtains  stirred  in  the  hot  and  fitful 
breeze.  Jacqueline,  waiting  for  the  lights,  pushed  the 
heavy  hair  from  her  forehead  and  panted  a  little  with  the  op 
pression  of  the  night.  Young  Isham  entered  with  the  candles, 
and  Mammy  Chloe  brought  her  upon  a  salver  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  roll.  She  ate  and  drank,  then  sent  her  old  nurse  away. 
The  candles,  under  their  tall  glass  shades,  were  upon  the 
centre  table,  and  beside  them  lay  the  letters  she  was  to  read. 
Her  husband's  own  letter  was  slipped  beneath  the  ribbon  that 
confined  her  dress,  and  lay  against  her  heart. 

It  was  so  hot  and  dull  a  night  that  she  stood  for  a  while 
at  a  window,  leaning  a  little  out,  trying  to  fancy  that  there 
was  rain  in  the  fantastic  mass  of  clouds  that  rose  on  either 
side  of  the  evening  star.  The  smell  of  the  box  at  the  gate  was 
strong.  She  thought  of  Fontenoy,  of  Major  Edward,  and  of 
Deb.  A  grey  moth  touched  her;  she  looked  once  again  at  the 
bright  star  between  the  clouds,  then,  turning  back  into  the 
room,  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  and,  sitting  down,  took  into 
her  lap  the  papers  that  lay  beside  the  candles. 

There  had  come  a  letter  in  the  stage  from  Winchester. 
She  opened  it.  "Could  Mr.  Rand  arrive  by  such  a  day  ?  The 
case  was  important  —  the  interests  large  —  the  fee  large,  too. 
Could  he  come  just  as  soon  as  the  jury,  the  press,  and  Mr. 
Jefferson  hanged  Aaron  Burr?  An  early  reply  — " 

Jacqueline  rose,  brought  writing-materials  from  the  escri 
toire  to  the  table,  and  copied  rapidly,  in  her  clear,  Italian 


364  LEWIS   RAND 

hand,  the  Winchester  letter,  then  laid  it  to  one  side  to  be  folded 
with  her  own  to  Lewis  for  to-morrow's  stage  to  Williams- 
burgh.  The  next  letter  was,  she  knew,  from  Albemarle,  and 
not  important.  She  laid  it  aside.  The  third  she  opened;  it 
was  from  a  gentleman  in  Westmoreland  who  wished  in  a 
certain  litigation  "the  services,  sir,  of  the  foremost  lawyer 
in  the  state."  Jacqueline  smiled  and  laid  it  with  the  Albe 
marle  letter.  The  matter  might  wait  until  the  foremost  law 
yer's  return.  There  were  now  two  letters,  and  neither  was 
from  Washington.  One  was  indeed  about  matters  political, 
a  tirade  from  a  party  leader  on  Rand's  folly  in  declining,  last 
year,  the  nomination  for  Governor,  but  it  contained  nothing 
to  demand  his  instant  attention.  The  other,  which  had  come 
by  boat  from  Norfolk,  seemed  of  no  consequence. 

Jacqueline  put  both  aside,  and  took  into  her  hand  the 
packet  given  her  by  Colonel  Nicholas.  She  sat  for  a  moment, 
looking  at  the  superscription.  "A  letter  from  Washington," 
Lewis  said,  "outlining  the  Embargo  measures.  Open  and 
glance  through  it  to  see  if  there  be  any  message  I  should 
have  at  once."  She  thought  no  otherwise  than  that  this  was 
the  letter  in  question.  Mr.  Jefferson  was,  she  knew,  upon 
the  defensive  in  regard  to  these  measures,  and  she  was  glad 
to  believe  that  he  had  fallen  into  an  ancient  habit  and  was 
willing,  as  of  old,  to  expatiate  upon  his  policy  to  Lewis  Rand. 

She  broke  the  red  seals  and  unfolded  the  paper.  It  proved 
to  be  a  letter  covering  a  letter.  She  let  fall  the  folded,  inner 
missive,  drew  a  candle  nearer,  and  read  in  Jefferson's  small, 
formal,  and  very  clear  hand :  — 

I  have  the  honour  to  restore  to  you  the  letter  which  you 
will  find  enclosed.  If  you  ask  how  it  came  into  my  hands,  I 
have  but  to  say  that,  in  times  of  crisis  and  peril,  rules  of  con 
duct,  on  the  part  of  a  government  as  of  an  individual,  have 


THE   LETTER  365 

somewhat  to  bow  to  necessity.  Enough  that  it  did  come  into 
my  hands  —  last  autumn.  Judge  if  I  have  used  it  against 
you !  It  is  now  returned  to  you  because  I  no  longer  conceive 
it  necessary  to  hold  it.  I  might  have  burned  it;  I  prefer  that 
you  shall  do  so. 

I  have  but  a  word  to  add  to  our  conversation  of  last  August 
at  Monticello.  I  am  a  man  of  strong  affections.  Your  youth 
and  all  the  eager  service  you  did  me  in  those  years,  and  the 
great  hopes  I  had  for  you,  endeared  you  to  me.  These  things 
are  present  in  my  mind.  Were  they  not  so,  you  would  have 
heard  from  me  in  other  wise !  Were  they  not  so,  that  which 
I  now  enclose  should  not  travel  back  to  the  writer's  hand; 
it  should  remain,  distinct  and  black,  upon  your  Country's 
records,  for  your  children's  children  to  read  with  burning 
cheeks !  I  spare  you,  but  you  are  of  course  aware  that  the 
affection  of  which  I  spoke  is  dead,  dead  as  the  trust  with 
which  I  regarded  you,  or  as  the  pride  with  which  I  dwelt 
upon  your  future !  Reread  and  destroy  that  which  I  place  in 
your  hand. 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

Jacqueline  laid  down  the  large,  blue,  crackling  sheet,  and 
took  from  the  floor  beside  her,  where  it  had  fallen,  the  Presi 
dent's  enclosure.  Hand  and  eye  moved  mechanically;  she 
neither  thought  nor  feared.  Her  judgment  was  in  suspen 
sion,  and  she  was  unconscious  of  herself  or  of  her  act.  The 
seals  upon  this  second  letter  were  broken.  She  unfolded  it. 
On  the  outside  it  was  addressed  in  a  hand  that,  had  she 
thought,  she  would  have  recognised  for  Tom  Mocket's,  to  an 
undistinguished  person  at  Marietta  upon  the  Ohio;  within, 
the  writing  was  her  husband's  and  the  address  was  to  Aaron 
Burr.  The  date  was  last  August,  the  subject-matter  the  dis 
ruption  of  the  Republic  and  the  conquest  of  Mexico,  and  the 


366  LEWIS   RAND 

detail  of  plans  included  the  arrangement  by  which  Rand  was 
to  leave  Albemarle,  ostensibly  to  examine  a  purchase  of  land 
beyond  the  mountains.  He  would  leave,  however,  not  to 
return.  Once  out  of  the  country,  he  with  his  wife  would  press 
on  rapidly  to  the  Ohio,  to  Blennerhassett's  island. 

The  summer  night  deepened,  hot  and  languorous,  with  a 
sweep  of  moths  to  the  candle  flames,  with  vagrant  odours  of 
flowering  vines  and  vagrant  sounds  of  distant  laughter,  voices, 
footsteps  down  the  long  street.  Jacqueline  sat  very  still, 
the  letter  in  her  lap.  The  curtains  at  the  window  moved  in 
the  fitful  air.  Through  the  open  doors  from  the  kitchen  in  the 
yard  behind  the  house  came  the  strumming  of  a  banjo,  then 
Joab's  deep  bass:  — 

"Go  down,  go  down,  Moses, 

Tell  Pharaoh  let  us  go! 
Go  down,  go  down,  Moses, 
King  Pharaoh,  let  us  go!" 

There  was  a  wave  of  honeysuckle,  too  faint  and  deadly  sweet. 
A  party  of  men,  boatmen  or  waggoners,  went  by,  and  as  they 
passed,  broke  into  rough  laughter. 

Jacqueline  rose,  letting  fall  the  letter.  With  her  hand  to 
her  forehead  she  stood  for  a  minute,  then  moved  haltingly  to 
the  window.  Her  eyes  were  blank;  she  wanted  air,  she  knew, 
and  for  the  moment  she  knew  little  else.  She  was  whelmed 
in  deep  waters,  and  all  horizons  were  one.  When  she  reached 
the  casement,  she  could  only  cling  to  the  sill,  raise  her  eyes 
to  the  stars,  and  find  nothing  there  to  help  her  understand. 
There  was  in  them  neither  calm  nor  sublimity;  they  swung 
and  danced  like  insensate  fireflies.  The  honeysuckle  was  too 
strong  —  and  she  must  tell  Joab  she  did  not  wish  to  hear  his 
banjo  to-night.  The  men  who  had  passed  were  still  laughing. 

She  put  her  hand  again  to  her  forehead,  then  presently 
withdrew  it  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  paper  lying 


THE   LETTER  367 

upon  the  floor  beside  the  table.  By  degrees  the  vagueness 
and  the  absence  of  sensation  vanished.  She  had  had  her 
moments  of  merciful  deadening,  of  indifference  to  pain ;  they 
were  past,  and  torment  now  began. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  went  by.  She  rose  from  the  sofa  upon 
which  she  had  thrown  herself,  face  down,  pressed  her  hands 
to  her  temples,  then,  moving  to  the  table,  wrote  there  a  word 
or  two,  folded  and  addressed  the  paper,  and  rang  the  bell. 
Young  Isham  appeared  and  she  gave  him  the  note,  bidding 
him,  in  a  voice  that  by  an  effort  she  made  natural,  to  hasten 
upon  his  errand.  When  he  was  gone,  she  stooped  and  gath 
ered  from  the  floor  the  fallen  letters  —  the  President's  and 
Lewis  Rand's  —  and  laid  them  in  a  drawer.  The  touch 
seemed  to  burn  her,  for  she  moaned  a  little.  She  wandered 
for  a  moment  uncertainly,  here  and  there  in  the  room,  then, 
returning  to  the  sofa,  fell  upon  her  knees  beside  it,  stretched 
out  her  arms  along  the  silk,  and  laid  her  head  upon  them. 
"O  God!  O  God!"  she  said,  but  made  no  other  prayer. 

The  minutes  passed.  There  was  a  step,  the  sound  of  the 
gate-latch,  and  a  hand  upon  the  knocker.  She  rose  from  her 
knees,  and  was  standing  by  the  table  when,  in  another  mo 
ment,  the  drawing-room  door  opened  to  admit  Ludwell  Gary. 
He  came  forward. 

"You  sent  for  me" —  He  paused,  stepped  back,  and 
looked  at  her  fully  and  gravely.  "Something  has  happened. 
Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"You  know.  You  have  known  all  the  time.  You  knew 
last  summer  in  the  cedar  wood!"  Her  voice  broke;  she 
raised  her  arms  above  her  head,  then  let  them  fall  with  a  cry. 
"You  knew  —  you  knew ! " 

"How  have  you  come  to  know  ?  No,  don't  tell  me!" 

"I  am  mad,  I  think.  A  letter  came  that  told  me.  I  see  now 
how  the  world  must  look  to  madmen.  It  is  a  curious  place 


368  LEWIS   RAND 

where  we  are  all  strangers  —  and  yet  we  think  it  is  our  safe 
home." 

As  she  turned  from  him,  she  reeled.  There  was  a  great  chair 
near,  beside  the  window.  Gary  caught  her  by  both  hands, 
forced  her  to  sit  down,  and  drew  the  curtains  apart  so  that  the 
air  of  night  came  fully  in.  The  quiet  street  was  now  deserted ; 
the  maple  boughs,  too,  screened  the  place.  "Look!  "  he  said. 
"Look  how  brightly  Venus  shines !  All  the  immense  rack  of 
clouds  that  we  had  at  sunset  has  vanished.  The  box  smells 
like  the  garden  at  Fontenoy,  where,  I  make  no  doubt,  Deb 
and  Major  Edward  are  walking  up  and  down,  counting  the 
stars.  Yes,  I  knew,  that  afternoon  in  the  cedar  wood  —  but 
not  for  happiness  itself  would  I  have  robbed  you  of  that 
faith,  that  confidence  —  " 

She  leaned  forward  in  the  great  chair,  her  hands  clasped 
upon  its  arms,  her  dark  eyes  wide  upon  the  night  without 
the  window.  "  I  sent  for  you  because  I  wished  you  to  tell 
me  all.  I  wanted  truth  as  I  wanted  air!  I  want  it  now. 
That  day  we  met  in  the  cedar  wood  —  you  and  Uncle  Ed 
ward  talked  together."  She  drew  a  difficult  breath.  "It 
was  then  that  they  —  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward  — 
began  to  treat  me  as  though  —  as  though  I  had  never  left 
home !  It  was  then  —  " 

"They  feared,"  said  Gary  gently,  "for  your  happiness." 

"I  returned  to  Roselands,  and  in  three  days  we  were  to 
travel  across  the  mountains.  Then  at  sunset,  underneath  the 
beech  tree" —  She  sat  for  a  moment  perfectly  still,  then 
turned  in  her  chair  and  spoke  in  a  clear  voice.  "That  was 
why  you  forced  him  to  challenge  you,  and  that  was  why  you 
named  a  distant  time  and  place  ?  The  truth,  please." 

"That  was  why." 

She  rose  from  the  chair  and  leaned,  panting,  against  the 
window-frame.  "Was  there  no  other  way  — " 


THE  LETTER  369 

"It  seemed  the  simplest  way/'  he  answered  quietly. 
"There  was  no  harm  done,  and  it  answered  my  purpose." 
He  paused,  then  went  on.  "My  purpose  was  to  detain  Mr. 
Rand  from  so  rash  and  so  fatal  a  step  until  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  take  it." 

She  turned  from  the  window.  "You  are  generous,"  she  said, 
in  a  stifled  voice.  "  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  hard  thoughts 
of  you.  Oh,  for  a  storm  and  a  wind  to  blow!  It  is  too  hot, 
too  heavy  a  night.  I  never  wish  to  smell  the  honeysuckle 
again." 

He  followed  her  back  to  the  light  of  the  candles.  "Listen 
to  me  for  a  moment.  I  do  not  think  that  you  know  —  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  know  —  the  iron  strength  of  the  laws  that  rule  an 
ambitious  nature.  Ambition  becomes  an  atmosphere;  the 
man  whose  temperament  and  self-training  enure  him  to  it 
breathes  it  at  last  as  though  it  were  his  native  air.  It  becomes 
that  —  an  inner  and  personal  clime,  the  source  and  spring 
of  countless  actions,  great  and  small.  The  light,  too,  is  re 
fracted,  and  the  great  background  of  life  is  not  seen  quite 
truly.  It  is,  I  think,  an  enchanted  air,  into  which  a  man  drifts 
upon  a  river  of  dreams  and  imaginations  —  and  how  hard 
to  reascend,  against  the  current!"  He  paused,  stood  a  mo 
ment  with  downcast  eyes,  measuring  the  table  with  his  hand, 
then  drew  a  quick  breath  and  spoke  on.  "Given  his  parent 
age  and  descent,  his  unhappy  and  hardly-treated  boyhood, 
the  visions,  the  rebellions,  the  longings  with  which  he  must 
have  walked  the  hot  and  rank  tobacco-fields;  given  the  up 
ward  struggle  of  his  youth,  so  determined  and  so  successful; 
given  the  courage,  the  hardihood,  the  wide  outlook  of  a  man 
who  has  neither  inherited  nor  been  granted,  but  has  himself 
hewn  out  and  built  up  his  holding  in  life;  given  genius  and 
sense  of  power,  will,  perseverance,  and  the  fatal  knowledge 
that  all  events  and  all  currents  habitually  bend  to  his  hand, 


370  LEWIS   RAND 

—  given  all  this  and  opportunity  "  —  He  raised  his  head  and 
met  her  eyes.  "It  is  not  strange  and  it  is  not  monstrous  that 
Mr.  Rand  should  have  involved  himself,  to  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  in  this  attempt  upon  the  West.  God  is  my  witness,  I 
would  not  have  you  think  it  strange  and  monstrous !  Ambi 
tion  is,  perhaps,  the  most  human  of  all  qualities.  Many  and 
many  an  ambitious  man  has  been  loved,  loved  passionately, 
loved  deservedly !  —  many  a  conqueror,  many  a  one  of 
those  who  failed  to  conquer  and  who  were  called  by  an  ugly 
name !  Love  does  not  love  the  ambition ;  it  loves  that  which 
is  love-worthy  below  the  iron  grating  and  the  tracery  of 
false  gold  !  As  the  world  goes,  Lewis  Rand  and  I  are  enemies ; 
but  I  could  swear  to  you  to-night  that  I  see,  that  I  have 
always  seen,  a  greatness  in  him !  I  believe  it  to  be  distorted 
and  darkened,  but  the  quality  of  it  is  greatness.  Were  I 
he" —  He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  continued,  with  dig 
nity.  "Were  I  he,  I  would  say  to  the  lady  who,  for  love,  had 
given  me  her  hand  in  wedlock,  —  'Love  me  still.  My  land 
is  one  of  storm  and  darkness,  of  rude  wastes  and  frowning 
strongholds  whence  sometimes  issue  robber  bands.  But  it 
is  not  a  petty  land,  and  side  by  side  with  all  that  is  wrong 
runs  not  a  little  that  is  heroic  and  right !  Love  me  still  and 
help  me  there,  even  though  —  even  though  I  am  forsworn 
to  you!'" 

" I  would  not  have  you  think,"  she  said  clearly,  —  "I 
would  not  have  you  even  lightly  dream,  that  his  country  is 
not  my  country !  I  love  him ! " 

"I  know  that  you  do." 

"There  is  no  place  so  dark  that  I  would  not  wait  for  him 
there  as  for  the  dawn.  There  is  no  flood  I  would  not  cross  to 
him ;  there  is  no  deep  pit  in  which  I  would  not  seek  him,  were 
he  fallen  there !  He  has  done  wrong,  and  I  am  unhappy  for 
it.  But  never  think,  never  dream,  that,  though  I  see  the  dark 


THE   LETTER  371 

and  broken  ground,  I  would  leave  that  country,  or  am  less 
than  wholly  loyal  to  its  King!" 

"I  have  neither  thought  nor  dreamed  it." 

"When  I  —  when  I  learned  this  thing,  it  shook  me  so! 
My  brain  whirled,  and  then  I  thought  of  you  and  called 
to  you." 

"There  is  no  service  to  which  you  could  call  me  that  I 
would  not  thankfully  render.  I  am  your  friend  and  your 
people's  friend.  There  is  one  thing  more  I  should  like  to 
say  to  you.  Do  not  fear  for  him.  There  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  this  will  ever  be  discovered.  The  lips  of  those 
who  know  are  sealed." 

"Who  knows?" 

"On  our  side  your  uncles,  my  brother  and  I,  —  and  your 
cousin,  I  think,  guesses.  The  President,  also,  is  aware  — " 

She  reddened  deeply.  "I  know,"  she  said,  in  a  stifled 
voice.  "The  President,  too,  is  generous — " 

"On  his  —  on  Mr.  Rand's  side,  certain  men  whom  we 
need  not  name.  That  he  has  secured  their  silence,  events  have 
proved,  and  I  take  it  for  granted  that  he  has  been  careful  to 
recall  and  to  destroy  any  writing  that  might  incriminate.  He 
is,  I  think,  quite  safe." 

She  turned  from  him  and,  sitting  down  by  the  table,  laid  her 
head  upon  her  arms.  He  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with 
compassion  and  understanding,  chivalrous  and  deep,  then, 
moving  to  the  window,  stood  there  with  his  face  to  the  even 
ing  star.  At  last  she  spoke  in  a  broken  and  tremulous  voice. 
"Mr.  Gary  —  " 

He  came  to  her  side.  "It  is  a  peaceful  night,  still  and 
bright.  You  will  sleep,  will  you  not  ?  Leave  all  this  to  Time 
and  to  the  power  of  steadfast  love !  You  may  yet  see  in  this 
land  the  grandeur  of  the  dawn." 

"I  know  that  I  shall,"  she  answered.   "  And  when  I  see  it, 


372  LEWIS   RAND 

I  shall  think  reverently  of  you.   It  was  like  you  to  come,  like 
you  to  help  me  so.    Now,  good-night!" 

She  took  his  hand,  and  before  he  could  prevent  her,  raised 
it  to  her  lips.    "No,  —  let  me!    You  are  generous  and  you 
are  noble.    I  acknowledge  it  from  my  heart.    Good-night  - 
good-bye ! " 

He  showed  for  a  moment  his  pent  emotion,  then  strove 
with  and  conquered  it.  "I  will  go.  Your  cousin  is  from 
home,  and  you  are  alone  to-night.  Would  you  prefer  that  she 
should  return  ? " 

"No.    I  had  rather  be  alone." 

He  took  the  hand  that  she  gave  him,  kissed  it,  and  said 
good-night.  When  he  was  gone  and  his  step  had  died  from 
the  street,  she  stood  for  some  moments  as  he  had  left  her, 
then,  with  a  sobbing  breath,  turned  to  the  table  and  took 
the  letters  from  the  drawer. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

RAND    AND    MOCKET 

TOM  MOCKET,  returning  to  Richmond  twenty- 
four  hours  after  his  friend  and  patron,  found  it  too 
late  that  evening  to  see  Lewis  and  to  report  the 
happy  winding  up  of  all  matters  in  Williamsburgh.  The 
next  morning  he  was  at  the  office  betimes,  but  though  he 
waited  long,  no  Lewis  appeared.  At  last  Tom  sent  a  boy 
to  the  house  on  Shockoe,  who  returned  with  the  statement 
that  Mr.  Rand  was  gone  to  the  Capitol.  "Then  I  '11  go  too/' 
thought  Tom.  "I've  got  nerve  as  well  as  he!" 

It  was  the  fourth  day  of  the  actual  trial,  and  interest  was 
at  white  heat.  Tom  whistled  to  himself  as  he  crossed  the 
Capitol  Square  where  men  blocked  the  paths  or,  on  the  gras; 
beneath  the  trees,  recounted,  disputed,  and  prophesied. 
When  he  reached  the  building,  it  was  with  much  difficulty 
that  he  effected  an  entrance,  and  with  more  that  he  at  last 
edged  himself  into  the  Hall  of  the  House  of  Delegates.  Sturdy 
perseverance  and  an  acquaintance  with  a  doorkeeper,  how 
ever,  can  accomplish  much,  and  these  finally  placed  Mocket 
where,  by  dint  of  balancing  himself  upon  an  advantageous 
ledge  of  masonry,  he  had  a  fair  view  of  both  participants  and 
spectators. 

General  William  Eaton  was  being  examined.  The  throng 
sat  or  stood  silently  attentive,  swayed  forward  as  by  a  wind. 
Marshall  upon  the  bench,  long  and  loose-jointed,  with  a 
quiet,  plain  face,  was  listening  with  intentness ;  the  opposing 
counsel  sat  alert,  gathered  for  the  pounce;  the  prisoner, 
with  a  contemptuous  smile,  regarded  the  witness,  who  in- 


374  LEWIS   RAND 

deed  cut  but  a  poor  figure.  The  District  Attorney's  voice, 
deliberate  and  full,  asked  a  question,  and  General  Eaton 
proceeded  to  give  in  detail  Colonel  Burr's  expression  of 
treasonable  intentions. 

Mocket,  who  had  at  first  looked  and  listened  with  a  thump 
ing  heart  and  a  strong  feeling  that,  visible  to  all,  the  letter 
T  might  be  somewhere  sewn  or  branded  upon  his  own  per 
son,  by  degrees  grew  bolder.  There  was  n't  any  letter  there, 
that  was  certain,  and  a  slight  sense  of  personal  danger  might 
even  become  a  welcome  sauce  to  such  a  great  affair  as  this ! 
His  fright  vanished,  and  his  ferret  eyes  began  to  rove. 

There  was  Adam  Gaudylock,  still  with  his  musket.  It 
was  a  day  when  men  habitually  journeyed  with  pistols  in 
their  holsters  or  a  dirk  somewhere  about  them,  but  Adam 
carried  that  musket  merely  because  he  loved  it  —  like  a  dog 
or  a  woman !  Tawny  and  blue-eyed,  light  and  lithe,  indiffer 
ent  and  pleased  to  see  the  show,  the  hunter  listened  to 
General  Eaton  and  laughed  behind  his  hand  to  a  fellow 
woodsman.  "  My  certie,  he 's  trained ! "  thought  Tom.  "  It 's 
not  much  they  '11  get  from  him ! " 

His  eyes  left  Adam  and  travelled  in  search  of  Lewis  Rand, 
finding  him  at  last  where  he  sat  at  no  great  distance  from 
the  group  of  central  importance.  His  face  was  turned  in 
Mocket's  direction,  and  the  light  from  a  high  window  fell 
upon  it.  "He  doesn't  see  me,"  thought  Tom  to  himself. 
"Who's  he  looking  at  like  that?" 

The  witness's  voice,  raised  by  suggestion  of  counsel  to  a 
higher  note,  came  athwart  Mocket's  speculations.  "I  lis 
tened  to  Colonel  Burr's  mode  of  indemnity;  and  as  I  had 
by  this  time  begun  to  suspect  that  the  military  expedition 
he  had  on  foot  was  unlawful,  I  permitted  him  to  believe 
myself  resigned  to  his  influence,  that  I  might  understand 
the  extent  and  motive  of  his  arrangements.  Colonel  Burr 


RAND  AND   MOCKET  375 

now  laid  open  his  project  of  revolutionizing  the  territory  west 
of  the  Alleghany;  establishing  an  independent  empire  there; 
New  Orleans  to  be  the  capital,  and  he  himself  to  be  the  chief; 
organizing  a  military  force  on  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi, 
and  carrying  conquest  to  Mexico — " 

On  went  Eaton's  disclosures,  punctuated  by  heated  objec 
tions  from  Wickham  and  Luther  Martin,  and  once  or  twice 
by  a  scornful  question  from  Burr  himself.  It  was  damning 
testimony,  and  the  throng  hung  breathless  on  the  various 
voices.  Mocket  listened  also,  but  listened  with  his  eyes  upon 
his  chief,  and  when  there  arose  some  interruption  and  dis 
pute  over  technicalities,  his  freed  mind  proceeded  to  deal 
with  Rand's  change  of  aspect.  It  occurred  to  him  to  wonder 
if  the  light  which  showed  it  to  him  could  be  falling  through 
a  veil  of  storm  cloud,  but  when  he  glanced  at  the  high  win 
dow,  there  was  only  the  blue  August  heaven.  What,  then, 
gave  Lewis  so  dark  a  look  ?  "The  black  dog  he  talks  of  has 
got  him  sure,"  thought  Tom.  "What's  happened  to  anger 
him  like  that?" 

The  voice  of  the  witness  again  made  itself  heard.  "  Colonel 
Burr  stated  that  he  had  secured  to  his  interests  and  attached 
to  his  person  the  most  distinguished  citizens  of  Tennessee, 
Kentucky,  and  the  territory  of  Orleans;  that  the  army  of  the 
United  States  would  act  with  him ;  that  it  would  be  reinforced 
by  ten  or  twelve  thousand  men  from  the  above  states  and 
territories,  and  that  he  had  powerful  agents  in  the  Spanish 
territory.  He  proposed  to  give  me  a  distinguished  command 
in  his  army;  I  understood  him  to  say  the  second  in  command. 
I  asked  him  who  would  command  in  chief.  He  said,  Gen 
eral  Wilkinson.  I  said  that  General  Wilkinson  would  act 
as  lieutenant  to  no  man  in  existence.  'You  are  in  error/  said 
Mr.  Burr.  'Wilkinson  will  act  as  lieutenant  to  me  — ' ' 

Mocket  moved  with   care   along  the  ledge  until  he  had 


376  LEWIS   RAND 

brought  within  his  view  another  portion  of  the  Hall.  "That 
look  of  his  isn't  fixed  on  nothing!  Now  we'll  see."  He 
stood  on  tiptoe,  craned  his  neck,  and  surveyed  the  crowded 
floor.  "  Humph  ! "  he  remarked  at  last.  "  I  might  have  known 
without  looking.  If  I  were  Ludwell  Gary — ' 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  and  the  prisoner  himself  were 
subjecting  the  witness  to  a  riddling  fire  of  cross-questions. 
Mocket,on  his  coign  of  vantage,  was  caught  again  by  the  more 
apparent  drama,  and  looked  and  listened  greedily.  Eaton  at 
last  retired,  much  damaged,  and  Commodore  Truxtun  was 
sworn.  This  was  a  man  of  different  calibre,  and  from  side 
to  side  of  the  long  room  occurred  a  subtle  intensification  of 
respect,  interest,  and  attention.  On  went  the  examination, 
this  time  favourable,  on  the  whole,  to  Burr.  "  The  prisoner 
frequently,  in  conversation  with  me,  mentioned  the  subject 
of  speculations  in  western  lands,  opening  a  canal  and  build 
ing  a  bridge.  Colonel  Burr  also  said  to  me  that  the  govern 
ment  was  weak,  and  that  he  wished  me  to  get  the  navy  of 
the  United  States  out  of  my  head;  that  it  would  dwindle 
to  nothing;  and  that  he  had  something  to  propose  to  me  that 
was  both  honourable  and  profitable;  but  I  considered  this 
nothing  more  than  an  interest  in  his  land  speculations  — ': 

The  August  heat  was  maddening.  Now  and  then  a  puff 
of  wind  entered  from  the  parched  out-of-doors,  but  it  hardly 
refreshed.  The  flutter  of  the  women's  fans  in  the  gallery 
made  a  far  away  and  ineffectual  sound.  "All  his  conversa 
tions  respecting  military  and  naval  subjects  and  the  Mexican 
expedition,"  went  on  Truxtun's  voice,  "were  in  event  of  a 
war  with  Spain.  I  told  him  my  opinion  was,  there  would  be 
no  war,  but  he  was  sanguine  of  it.  He  said  that  after  the 
Mexican  expedition  he  intended  to  provide  a  formidable 
navy;  that  he  meant  to  establish  an  independent  govern 
ment  and  give  liberty  to  an  enslaved  world.  I  declined  his 


RAND   AND   MOCKET  377 

propositions  to  me  because  the  President  was  not  privy  to 
the  project.  He  asked  me  the  best  mode  of  attacking  the 
Havana,  Carthagena,  and  La  Vera  Cruz — •" 

The  day  wore  on.  Truxtun  was  released,  and  the  Attor 
ney  for  the  United  States  called  Blennerhassett's  servants  to 
prove  the  array  at  the  island '  and  the  embarkment  upon 
the  Ohio.  They  did  their  best  with  a  deal  of  verbiage,  of 
"Colonel  Burr  said"  and  "Mr.  Blennerhassett  said/'  and 
with  no  little  bewilderment  under  cross-examination.  "Yes, 
sir;  I'm  telling  you,  sir.  Mr.  Blennerhassett  allowed  that 
Colonel  Burr  and  he  and  a  few  friends  had  bought  eight 
hundred  thousand  acres  of  land,  and  they  wanted  young 
men  to  settle  it.  He  said  he  would  give  any  young  man  who 
would  go  down  the  river  one  hundred  acres  of  land,  plenty 
of  grog  and  victuals  while  going  down  the  river,  and  three 
months'  provision  after  they  got  to  the  end;  every  young 
man  must  have  his  rifle  and  blanket.  When  I  got  home,  I 
began  to  think,  and  I  asked  him  what  kind  of  seed  we  should 
carry  with  us.  He  said  we  did  not  want  any,  the  people  had 
seeds  where  we  were  going — " 

"Of  what  occupation  were  you  upon  the  island?"  de 
manded  Mr.  Win. 

"A  gardener,  sir.  And  then  Mr.  Blennerhassett  said  to 
me,  *  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Peter,  we  're  going  to  take  Mexico, 
one  of  the  finest  and  richest  places  in  the  world ! '  He  said 
that  Colonel  Burr  would  be  King  of  Mexico,  and  that  Mrs. 
Alston,  daughter  of  Colonel  Burr,  was  to  be  the  Queen  of 
Mexico  whenever  Colonel  Burr  died.  He  said  that  Colonel 
Burr  had  made  fortunes  for  many  in  his  time,  but  none  for 
himself,  and  now  he  was  going  to  make  something  for  him 
self.  He  said  that  he  had  a  great  many  friends  in  the  Span 
ish  territory;  that  the  Spaniards,  like  the  French,  had  got 
dissatisfied  with  their  government,  and  wanted  to  swap  it. 


LEWIS  RAND 

He  told  me  that  the  British  also  were  friends  in  this  piece 
of  business.  I  told  him  that  the  people  had  got  it  into  their 
heads  that  Colonel  Burr  wanted  to  divide  the  Union.  He 
sent  me  to  Mason  County  with  a  letter,  but  I  was  n't  to 
deliver  it  until  I  had  the  promise  that  it  should  be  burned 
before  me  as  soon  as  't  was  read,  for,  says  he,  it  contains  high 
treason." 

"Gad!"  thought  Mocket  to  himself,  "I'm  glad  that  some 
one  else's  letters  are  burned  as  well !  If  I  were  as  cool  as 
Aaron  Burr  looks - 

Mr.  McRae  questioned  the  witness :  "  Well,  who  went  off 
this  December  night  ? " 

"Mr.  Blennerhassett,  sir,  and  the  whole  of  the  party." 

"At  what  time  of  the  night?" 

"About  one  o'clock." 

"  Did  all  that  came  down  to  the  island  go  away  ? " 

"All  but  one,  who  was  sick." 

"  Had  they  any  guns  ? " 

"  Some  of  them  had.  Some  of  the  people  went  a-shooting; 
but  I  do  not  know  how  many  there  were." 

"  What  kind  of  guns ;  rifles  or  muskets  ? " 

"I  can't  tell  whether  rifles  or  muskets.  I  saw  no  pistols 
but  what  belonged  to  Mr.  Blennerhassett  himself." 

"  Was  there  any  powder  or  lead  ? " 

"  They  had  powder  and  they  had  lead.  I  saw  some  powder 
in  a  long,  small  barrel  like  a  churn.  Some  of  the  men  were 
engaged  in  running  bullets." 

"  What  induced  them  to  leave  the  island  at  that  hour  of 
the  night  ? " 

"  Because  they  were  informed  that  the  Kenawha  militia 
were  coming  down." 

The  cross-examination  of  this  witness  and  some  desultory 
firing  by  the  opposed  counsel  ended  the  day's  proceedings. 


RAND  AND   MOCKET  379 

The  court  adjourned,  and  the  crowd  streamed  forth  to  the 
open  air.  Mocket,  among  the  first  to  leave  the  hall,  waited 
for  his  chief  beside  the  outer  doors.  Townspeople,  country 
neighbours,  and  strangers  poured  by,  and  he  spoke  to  this 
one  or  to  that.  A  group  of  Federalists  approached;  among 
them  Ludwell  Gary.  They  were  talking,  and  as  they  passed 
Mocket  heard  the  words,  "When  I  return  to  Albemarle  next 
week —  "  They  went  on  down  the  steps;  others  streamed 
by,  and  presently  Rand  appeared.  His  lieutenant  joined 
him,  and  together  they  left  the  Capitol  and  struck  down  the 
parched  slopes  to  Governor  Street. 

"Things  are  all  right  at  Williamsburgh,"  ventured  Mocket, 
finding  the  silence  oppressive.  "I  got  in  too  late  to  see  you 
last  night.  Were  you  at  the  Capitol  yesterday  also  ? " 

"Yes." 

"A  man  told  me  they  had  Adam  on  the  stand.  They  got 
nothing  from  him  ? " 

"Nothing." 

"I've  the  papers  all  straight  for  the  Winchester  case. 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do  — " 

"I  want  you  to  be  silent." 

The  other  glanced  aslant,  with  a  lift  of  his  brows  and  a 
twist  of  his  lip.  "  That 's  a  black  rage,"  he  thought ;  "  Gideon 
and  old  Stephen  and  the  Lord  knows  who  beside  all  speak 
ing  together ! " 

They  left  Governor  Street  and  presently  arrived  in  silence 
before  Rand's  office.  Mocket  unlocked  the  door  and  they 
went  in  together.  The  senior  partner  dragged  a  chair  before 
the  empty  fireplace  and,  sitting  down,  stared  at  the  dis 
coloured  bricks  as  though  he  saw  vistas  through  the  wall. 
Tom  worked  among  the  papers  on  his  desk,  moving  his 
fingers  noiselessly,  and  now  and  then  glancing  over  his 
shoulder.  The  clock  on  the  wall  ticked  loudly. 


380  LEWIS   RAND 

Rand  spoke  at  last.  His  voice  had  a  curious  suppressed 
tone,  and  upon  his  forehead,  between  the  eyes,  was  displayed 
the  horseshoe  frown  of  extreme  anger.  Mocket  had  seen 
it  earlier  in  the  day,  and  it  was  now  distinct  as  a  brand.  "I 
am  not  going,"  he  said,  "to  take  the  Winchester  case.  This 
damned  business  here  will  soon  be  over.  I  shall  wait  to  hear 
the  verdict,  and  then  I  'm  going  to  Albemarle." 

"What  d'ye  think  the  verdict  will  be  ? " 

"They'll  acquit  him.  Barring  Wirt,  he  has  all  the  talent 
on  his  side.  I'll  leave  you  here  to  clear  up  things." 

"Does  Mrs.  Rand  wait  here  for  you  ?" 

"No.  She  leaves  Richmond  with  Miss  Dandridge  to 
morrow." 

Tom  took  out  his  knife  and  began  to  whittle,  an  occupation 
that  in  him  denoted  sustained  mental  exertion.  The  other 
sat  on  before  the  empty  fireplace,  the  mark  upon  his  fore 
head,  his  hand  twitching  where  it  lay  upon  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  The  clock  ticked  loudly;  the  sun,  now  low  in  the  hea 
vens,  sent  its  gold  shafts  through  the  window;  outside,  the 
locusts  shrilled  in  a  dusty  sycamore.  Rand  rose  and,  going 
to  the  cupboard,  took  from  it  a  bottle  and  a  glass,  poured  out 
brandy  for  himself,  and  drank  it.  In  an  age  of  hard  drink 
ing  he  was  accounted  puritanically  abstemious.  Mocket, 
glancing  after  him,  knew  that  the  draught  meant  disturbance 
so  deep  that  the  organism  needed,  rather  than  craved,  the 
strength  within  the  glass.  Rand  came  back  to  the  fireplace. 

"  Do  you  remember  when,  in  November,  I  burned  here,  or 
thought  I  burned  here,  all  papers,  all  letters — " 

"  Do  I  ? "  asked  Mocket,  with  emphasis.  "  There 's  nothing 
happened  to  make  me  forget." 

"A  man  cannot  weave  a  net  so  fine  that  some  minnow 
will  not  slip  through  and  become  leviathan !  It  escaped  and 
has  grown.  Well,  that  too  was  in  the  nature  of  things."  He 


RAND   AND   MOCKET  381 

took  the  ash-stick  from  the  corner  of  the  hearth  and  handled 
it  as  though  he  were  again  holding  down  burning  papers. 
"So  things  are  all  right  at  Wiiliamsburgh  ?  I  had  a  happy 
home-coming." 

"You  always  have  that/'  said  Tom  simply.  "You've  had 
a  wonderful  fortune,  and  more  there  than  anywhere.  I  'm 
always  telling  Vinie  — 

"Vinie!"  answered  the  other.  "Vinie  would  always 
blindly  worship  on.  The  sun  might  darken  and  go  out,  but 
where 's  the  odds  since  she  would  never  know  it !  Faith  like 
a  dog's  or  a  child's  or  Vinie's  —  there 's  comfort  there !  But 
the  awakened  mind,  and  Judgment  side  by  side  upon  the 
throne  with  Love  -  -  Oh,  there 's  verjuice  in  the  world ! "  He 
broke  into  harsh  laughter. 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  ailed  you,"  thought  Mocket.  "I'll 
try  another  tack."  He  stopped  whittling  and  turned  from  his 
desk.  "Coming  out  of  the  Capitol,  I  heard  Ludwell  Cary  say 
that  he  goes  next  week  to  Albemarle." 

"It  is  indifferent  to  me,"  replied  the  other,  "whether 
he  goes  or  stays."  His  hands  closed  upon  the  ash-stick  until 
his  nails  were  white.  Suddenly  he  spoke  without  apparent 
relevance.  "He  is  one  of  those  men  who  are  summoned  in 
time  of  trouble  —  when  the  mind  is  tossed  and  the  heart  is 
wavering.  They  always  answer  —  they  come  down  the  street 
at  night,  between  the  box  bushes,  up  the  steps  beneath  the 
honeysuckle  —  on  such  an  errand  they  would  not  fear  the 
lion's  den !  They  are  magnanimous,  they  are  generous,  they 
are  out  of  our  old  life,  they  can  tell  us  what  we  ought  to  do ! " 
He  struck  the  ash-stick  violently  against  the  hearth.  "  Honey 
suckle  and  box  and  the  quiet  of  the  night,  and  'Yes,  I  knew, 
I  knew.  'Twas  thus  and  so,  and  I  would  counsel  you  — ' 
Oh,  world's  end  and  hell-fire !  forgiveness  itself  grows  worth 
less  on  such  terms!" 


382  LEWIS   RAND 

He  threw  the  stick  from  him,  rose  abruptly,  and  walked 
to  the  window. 

"The  clouds  pile  up,  but  they  do  not  break,  and  the  heat 
and  fever  of  this  August  air  grow  intolerable.  To  abstract 
the  mind  —  to  abstract  the  mind  "  —  He  stood  listening  to 
the  locusts  and  all  the  indefinable  hum  of  the  downward- 
drawing  afternoon,  then  turned  to  Tom.  "Give  me  those 
Winchester  papers.  Now  what,  exactly,  did  you  do  in  Wil- 
liamsburgh  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    RIVER   ROAD 

THE  days  of  speeches,  for  the  Government  and  for 
Aaron  Burr,  —  Hay,  Wirt,  and  McRae  against 
Edmund  Randolph,  Wickham,  Botts,  Lee,  and 
Luther  Martin,  —  went  crackling  by  with  bursts  of  heavy 
artillery  and  with  running  fire  of  musketry.  It  was  a  day  of 
orators,  and  eloquence  was  spilled  like  water.  At  last  the 
case  rested.  The  Chief  Justice  summed  up,  exhaustively, 
with  extraordinary  ability,  and  with  all  the  impartiality 
humanly  possible  to  a  Federalist  Chief  Justice  dealing  with 
a  Republican  prosecution.  The  jury,  as  is  known,  brought 
in  a  Scotch  verdict,  whereupon  the  prisoner  was  immedi 
ately  upon  his  feet  with  a  vehement  protest.  Finally  the 
"  Not  proven  "  was  expunged  from  the  record,  and  Aaron 
Burr  stood  "  Acquitted."  The  famous  trial  for  treason  was 
over. 

As,  throughout  the  summer,  all  roads  led  to  Richmond, 
now,  in  the  fierce  heat  and  dust  of  early  autumn,  there  was 
an  exodus  which  left  the  town  extremely  dull  after  all  the  stir 
and  fascination  of  the  Government's  proceedings.  Burr, 
indeed,  discharged  for  treason,  was  still  held  in  bail  to  answer 
for  the  misdemeanor,  judges  and  lawyers  were  still  occupied, 
and  many  witnesses  yet  detained.  But  the  result  of  the  matter 
was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Here,  too,  there  would  be  a  "Not 
proven,"  with  a  demand  on  the  part  of  the  accused  for  a  "Not 
guilty,"  and  a  final  direction  by  the  judges  to  the  jury  to 
return  a  verdict  in  the  usual  form.  The  trial  of  a  man  for 
a  misdemeanor  in  levying  war  with  Spain  —  a  misdemeanor 


384  LEWIS   RAND 

which,  if  proved,  could  entail  only  imprisonment  —  was  an 
infinitely  less  affair  than  a  prosecution  for  high  treason,  with 
the  penalty  of  an  ignominious  death  suspended  like  a  sword 
of  Damocles.  The  little  world  in  Richmond  felt  the  subsid 
ence  of  excitement,  realized  how  warm  and  dusty  was  the 
town,  and  began  to  think  of  its  plantations  and  of  country 
business.  Witnesses  and  visitors  of  note  took  the  homeward 
road.  The  Swan,  the  Eagle,  the  Bell,  the  Indian  Queen, 
crowded  all  the  summer,  saw  their  patrons  depart  by  stage, 
by  boat,  in  coach  and  chaise,  and  on  horseback.  Many  pri 
vate  houses  were  closed,  and  the  quiet  of  the  doldrums  fell 
upon  the  place. 

Jacqueline  and  Unity  had  been  ten  days  in  Albemarle. 
The  two  Carys,  a  servant  behind  them  with  their  portman 
teaus,  rode  away  from  the  Swan  on  the  first  day  of  September. 
It  was  understood  between  the  brothers  that  they  were  to 
make  all  haste  to  Greenwood.  But  there  were  houses  on  the 
way  where  kinsmen  and  friends  might  be  trusted  to  do  what 
they  could  to  detain  the  two.  Both  were  anxious  to  be  at 
home  —  Fairfax  the  more  eager,  as  was  natural.  The  mar 
riage  was  set  for  the  middle  of  the  month.  As  they  rode  out 
of  town  he  had  begun  with,  "  I  Jll  see  her  in  four  days,"  and 
the  next  morning,  passing  through  the  gates  of  the  plantation 
where  they  had  slept,  he  had  irrelevantly  remarked,  "  Now 
it  is  but  three."  The  elder  brother  laughed  and  wished  him 
Houssain's  carpet. 

Throughout  the  day  they  rode  as  rapidly  as  the  heat  per 
mitted,  but  when  at  dusk  they  were  captured  by  a  kinsman 
with  a  charming  wife  and  a  bevy  of  pretty  daughters,  it  was 
evident  that  they  would  not  resume  the  road  at  dawn.  It 
was  noon,  indeed,  before  they  unclasped  all  these  tendrils  and 
pursued  their  journey,  and  at  sunset  another  plantation  put 
out  a  detaining  hand.  Fairfax  Gary  swore  with  impatience. 


THE   RIVER   ROAD  385 

The  other  laughed  again,  but  when,  late  next  morning,  they 
got  away  with  a  message  called  to  them  from  the  porch, 
"You'll  be  at  Elm  Tree  this  afternoon.  Tell  Cousin  Wil 
liam  -  '  he  looked  kindly  at  his  junior's  vexed  face  and 
proposed  a  division  of  forces. 

"We  can't  neglect  Elm  Tree,  and  then  there's  Cherry  Hill 
and  Malplaquet  still  before  us.  Why  should  n't  you  just  speak 
to  them  at  Elm  Tree,  then  ride  on  to  the  inn  at  Deer  Lick 
and  sleep  there  to-night  ?  You  could  start  with  the  first  light, 
ride  around  Cherry  Hill,  and  give  Malplaquet  the  slip.  I  '11 
make  your  excuses  everywhere.  It's  hard  if  a  man  can't  be 
forgiven  something  —  when  he 's  on  the  eve  of  marrying 
Unity  Dandridge !  You  '11  be  at  Greenwood  to-morrow  night, 
and  I  dare  say  they'll  ask  you  to  breakfast  at  Fontenoy. 
Come,  there 's  a  solution  ! " 

"  You  're  the  best  fellow !   And  what  will  you  do  ? " 

"I'll  sleep  to-night  at  Elm  Tree  and  ride  soberly  on  to 
morrow,  take  dinner  at  Cherry  Hill,  and  sleep  again  at  Mal 
plaquet.  They  '11  all  be  disappointed  at  not  seeing  the  pro 
spective  bridegroom,  but  I  '11  make  them  understand  that  a 
man  in  love  can't  travel  like  a  tortoise !  I  '11  ride  from  Mal 
plaquet  by  the  river  road  and  be  at  home  that  afternoon. 
You  had  better  take  Eli  with  you." 

They  rode  together  to  Elm  Tree,  and  parted  under  these 
conditions. 

Lewis  Rand  left  Richmond  on  the  third  of  September. 
He  travelled  rapidly.  There  were  no  kinsmen  to  detain  him 
on  the  road,  and  while  he  had  hot  partisans  and  was  not 
without  friends,  there  was  not  within  him  the  Virginian  in 
stinct  to  loiter  among  these  last,  finding  the  flower  in  the 
moment,  and  resolutely  putting  off  the  morrow.  His  quest 
was  for  the  morrow. 

He  rode  now  in  the  hot  September  weather,  by  field  and 


386  LEWIS   RAND 

forest,  hill  and  dale  and  stream,  and  rested  only  when  he 
would  spare  the  horses.  Young  Isham  was  with  him;  Joab 
had  been  sent  on  with  Jacqueline.  When  night  fell,  he  drew 
rein  at  the  nearest  house.  If  he  knew  the  people,  well;  if  he 
did  not  know  them,  well  still;  on  both  sides  acquaintance 
would  be  enlarged.  Hospitality  was  a  Virginian  virtue;  no 
one  ever  dreamed  of  being  unwelcome  because  he  was  a 
stranger.  In  the  morning,  after  thanks  and  proffers  of  all 
possible  service,  he  took  the  road  again.  It  was  his  purpose 
to  make  the  journey,  despite  the  heat,  in  three  days. 
.  The  last  night  upon  the  road  he  spent  at  a  small  tavern 
hard  by  an  important  crossroads.  It  was  twilight  when  he 
dismounted,  the  fireflies  thick  in  the  oak  scrub  and  up  and 
down  the  pale  roads,  a  crescent  moon  in  the  sky,  and  from 
somewhere  the  sound  of  wind  in  the  pine-tops.  Young  Isham 
and  the  hostler  took  away  the  horses,  and  Rand,  mounting  the 
steps  to  the  porch,  found  lounging  there  the  inn's  usual  half- 
dozen  haphazard  guests.  To  most  of  these  he  was  known 
by  sight,  to  all  by  name,  and  as,  with  a  "  Good-evening, 
gentlemen ! "  he  passed  into  the  low,  whitewashed  main 
room,  he  left  behind  him  more  animation  than  he  had  found. 
When,  a  little  later,  he  went  into  the  supper-room,  he  dis 
covered  at  table,  making  heavy  inroads  upon  the  bacon  and 
waffles,  an  old  acquaintance  —  Mr.  Ned  Hunter. 

"Mr.  Hunter,  good-evening." 

"Hey  —  what  —  the  Devil!  Good-evening  to  you,  Mr. 
Rand.  So,  after  all,  your  party,  sir,  did  n't  hang  Colonel 
Burr!" 

The  two  ate  supper  with  the  long  table  between  them,  and 
with  no  great  amiability  of  feeling  in  presence.  The  Republi 
can  was  the  first  to  end  the  meal,  and  the  Federalist  answered 
his  short  bow  with  an  even  more  abbreviated  salute.  Rand 
went  out  into  the  porch,  where  there  were  now  only  one  or 


THE   RIVER   ROAD  387 

two  lounging  figures,  and  sat  down  at  the  head  of  the  steps. 
Mr.  Hunter  came  presently,  too,  into  the  air,  and  leaned 
against  the  railing,  whistling  to  the  dogs  in  the  yard. 

"You  are  going  on  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Rand  ?" 

"Yes.   At  dawn." 

"You'll  be  in  Charlottesville,  then,  by  two  o'clock.  Earlier, 
if  you  take  the  river  road." 

"I  shall  take  the  river  road." 

"It  is  broken  riding,  but  it  is  the  quickest  way.  Well,  I 
won't  be  many  hours  behind  you !  My  humble  regards,  if 
you  please,  to  Mrs.  Rand.  There's  nothing  now  at  Fontenoy 
but  wedding  talk.  I  am  sure  I  hope  Miss  Dandridge  may  be 
happy !  Here,  Di !  here,  Rover !  here,  Vixen ! " 

Rand  arose.  "  I  've  had  a  long  day  and  I  make  an  early 
start.  Good-night  to  you,  gentlemen  ! " 

When,  in  the  morning,  Young  Isham  came  to  his  door  with 
the  first  light,  the  boy  found  his  master  already  up  and  partly 
dressed.  Rand  stood  by  the  window  looking  out  at  the  pink 
sky.  "A  bad  night,  Young  Isham,"  he  said,  without  turn 
ing.  "Sleep's  a  commodity  that  has  somehow  run  short 
with  me.  Are  the  horses  ready  ? " 

"Yaas,  marster." 

"  Have  you  had  your  breakfast  ? " 

"Yaas,  marster." 

"  Help  me  here,  then,  and  let 's  away.   Roselands  by  one ! " 

Young  Isham  held  the  gilt-buttoned  waistcoat,  then  took 
from  the  dresser  the  extravagant  neckcloth  of  the  period,  and 
wound  it  with  care  around  his  master's  throat.  Rand  knotted 
the  muslin  in  front,  put  on  his  green  riding-coat,  and  took 
from  the  dresser  his  watch  and  seals.  "  Bah !  there 's  a  chill 
in  these  September  dawns!  Close  the  portmanteau.  Where 
did  you  put  the  holsters  ? " 

"Dar  dey  is,  sah,  under  yo'  han'." 


388  LEWIS   RAND 

The  boy,  on  his  knees,  worked  at  the  straps  of  the  port 
manteau.  Rand,  waiting  for  him  to  finish,  drew  out  a  pistol 
from  its  leather  case,  looked  it  over  and  replaced  it,  then  did 
the  same  with  its  fellow.  "Are  you  done  ? "  he  said  at  last. 
"  Bring  everything  and  come  on.  I  '11  swallow  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  then  we  '11  be  gone.  We  should  pass  Malplaquet  by  nine/' 

They  rode  away  from  the  half-awakened  inn.  A  mist  was 
over  the  fields,  and  when  they  oresently  came  to  a  stretch  of 
forest,  the  leaves  on  either  hand  were  wet.  The  grey  filled 
arcades  and  hollows,  and  the  note  of  the  birds  was  as  yet 
sleepy  and  without  joyousness.  They  left  the  woods  and, 
mounting  a  hill,  saw  from  its  summit  the  sun  rise  in  splendour, 
then  dipped  again  into  fields  where  from  moment  to  moment 
the  gold  encroached.  They  rode  rapidly  in  the  freshness  of 
the  morning,  by  wood  and  field  and  stream,  so  rapidly  that  it 
was  hardly  nine  when  they  passed  a  brick  house  with  pillars 
set  on  a  hill-top  in  a  grove  of  oaks.  Rand  looked  at  it  fixedly 
as  he  rode  by.  Malplaquet  was  a  Gary  place,  and  it  had  an 
air  of  Greenwood. 

Three  miles  further  on,  sunk  in  elder  and  pokeberry  and 
shaded  by  a  ragged  willow,  there  appeared  a  wayside  forge. 
The  blacksmith  was  at  work,  and  the  clink,  clink  of  iron  made 
a  cheerful  sound.  Rand  drew  rein.  "Good-morning,  Jack 
Forrest.  Have  a  look,  will  you,  at  this  shoe  of  Selim's." 

The  smith  stooped  and  looked.  "Til  give  him  a  new  one 
in  a  twinkling,  Mr.  Rand!  From  Richmond,  sir?" 

"Yes;   from  Richmond." 

"Burr  got  off,  did  n't  he  ?  If  the  jury 'd  been  from  this 
county,  we'd  have  hanged  him  sure!  Splitting  the  country 
into  kindling  wood,  and  stirring  up  a  yellow  jacket's  nest  of 
Spaniards,  and  corrupting  honest  men !  If  they  won't  hang 
him,  then  tar  and  feathers,  say  I !  Soh,  Selim !  You  've  been 
riding  hard,  sir." 


THE   RIVER   ROAD  389 

"Yes.    I  wanted  to  be  at  home." 

"  'T  is  mortal  weather.  When  September's  hot,  it  lays  over 
July.  We  '11  have  a  storm  this  afternoon,  I  'm  thinking. 
There 's  a  deal  of  travel  despite  the  heat,  and  I  'm  not  com 
plaining  of  business.  Mr.  Gary  of  Greenwood  is  just  ahead 
of  you.  There,  sir,  that 's  done ! " 

The  smith  arose,  patted  Selim  on  the  shoulder,  and  stood 
back.  "You've  got  a  fine  horse,  Mr.  Rand,  and  that's  cer 
tain.  By  Meteor,  ain't  he,  out  of  Fatima  ? " 

"Yes.    Which  of  the  Carys  did  you  say - 

"Ludwell  Gary.  He  came  from  Malplaquet  and  rode  by 
an  hour  ago.  The  other  passed  yesterday — " 

"  Did  Mr.  Gary  say  which  road  he  would  take  at  the 
ford?" 

"No,  he  did  n't.  The  main  road,  though,  I  reckon.  The 
river  road 's  bad  just  now,  and  he  seemed  to  have  time 
before  him.  Thankee,  Mr.  Rand,  and  good-day  to  you ! " 

Followed  by  Young  Isham,  Rand  travelled  on  by  the  dusty 
road,  between  the  parching  elder  and  ironweed,  blackberry 
and  love  vine.  There  was  dust  upon  the  wayside  cedars,  and 
the  many  locust  trees  let  fall  their  small  yellow  leaves.  As  the 
sun  mounted  the  heat  increased,  and  with  it  the  interminable, 
monotonous,  and  trying  %/rr,  %/rr,  of  the  underworld  on  blade 
and  bush.  He  rode  with  a  dark  face,  and  with  lines  of  anger 
between  his  brows.  It  had  come  to  him  like  a  chance  spark 
to  a  mine  that  Ludwell  Gary  was  not  at  Greenwood,  was 
yet  upon  the  road  before  him.  He  knew  day  and  hour  when 
the  other  had  left  Richmond,  and  there  had  been  more  than 
time  to  make  his  journey. 

Before  him,  on  the  lower  ground,  a  belt  of  high  and  deep 
woods  proclaimed  a  watercourse,  and  he  presently  arrived 
beside  a  shrunken  stream.  Here  was  a  mill,  and  the  miller 
and  a  man  or  two  were  apparent  in  the  doorway.  The  ford 


390  LEWIS   RAND 

lay  a  hundred  yards  beyond,  and  on  the  far  side  of  the  stream 
the  river  road  and  the  main  road  branched.  Travellers 
paused  as  a  matter  of  course  to  give  and  take  the  time  of  day, 
and  now  the  miller,  dusty  and  white,  came  out  into  the  road. 
"Morning,  morning,  Mr.  Rand!  From  Richmond,  sir?  So 
we  could  n't  hang  Aaron  Burr,  after  all.  Well,  he  ought  to 
have  been,  that 's  all  I  've  got  to  say ! " 

"Give  me  a  gourd  of  water,  will  you,  Bates  ?  This  dust  is 
choking." 

'T  is  that,  sir.  But  we  '11  have  a  storm  before  the  day  is 
over.  There 's  a  deal  of  travel  just  now.  Mr.  Gary  of  Green 
wood  passed  a  short  while  ago." 

A  negro  brought  a  dripping  gourd.  Rand  put  it  to  his  lips 
and  drank  the  cool  water.  "Which  road,"  he  asked,  as  he 
gave  back  the  gourd,  —  "which  road  did  Mr.  Gary  take? 
The  main  road  or  the  river  road  ? " 

The  miller  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "Jim  and  Bob  and 
Shirley,  which  road  did  Mr.  Gary  take  ? " 

"I  didn't  notice." 

"Reckon  he  took  the  main  road,  Bates." 

"I  wasn't  looking,  but  you  could  hear  his  horse's  hoofs,, 
and  that  would  n't  have  been  so  on  the  river  road." 

"T  wuz  de  main  road,  sah." 

Rand  and  Young  Isham  went  on,  down  by  the  mill  and 
along  the  bank  to  the  clear,  brown,  shallow  ford,  crossed,  and 
paused  beneath  a  guide-post  upon  the  crest  of  the  further 
bank.  The  trees  hid  the  mill.  Before  them  stretched  the  main 
road,  to  the  right  dipped  between  fern  and  under  arching 
boughs  the  narrow,  broken  river  road.  "If  he  went  this 
way,"  said  Rand  slowly,  "I  '11  go  that.  Young  Isham  — " 

"Yaas,  marster." 

"The  mare's  spent.  No  need  to  give  her  this  rough  trav 
elling.  Take  the  main  road  and  take  it  slowly.  Let  her  walk, 


THE   RIVER   ROAD  391 

and  when  you  reach  Red  Fields,  stop  and  have  her  fed. 
I'll  go  and  go  fast  by  the  river  road." 

Master  and  slave  parted,  the  latter  keeping  to  the  sunny 
thoroughfare,  the  former  plunging  into  the  narrow,  heavily 
shaded  track  that  ran  through  ravine  and  over  ridge,  now 
beside  the  water  and  now  in  close  woods  of  birch  and  hem 
lock.  The  road  was  bad,  but  Selim  and  his  master  bent  to  it 
grimly,  with  no  nice  avoidance  of  rut  or  stone  or  sunken 
place.  To  the  horse  there  was  before  him  food  and  rest,  to 
the  man  his  home.  They  took  at  the  same  pace  the  much 
of  rough  and  the  little  of  smooth,  and  the  miles  fell  behind 
them.  The  sun  was  high,  but  there  were  threatening  masses 
of  clouds,  with  now  and  then  a  distant  roll  of  thunder.  The 
road  was  solitary,  little  used  at  any  time,  and  to-day  as  lonely 
a  woodland  way  as  might  well  be  conceived. 

Rand  rode  with  closed  lips,  and  with  the  mark  between  his 
brows.  Passion  was  having  its  way  with  him,  such  passion 
as  had  lived  with  him,  now  drowsing,  now  fiercely  awake, 
in  the  days  at  Richmond  between  his  return  from  Williams- 
burgh  and  the  close  of  the  trial.  He  saw  Roselands  and 
Jacqueline  beneath  the  beech  tree,  but  he  also  saw,  and  that 
with  more  distinctness,  the  face  and  form  of  the  man  who 
rode  toward  Greenwood.  He  longed  for  Jacqueline,  but  he 
had  not  forgiven  her.  He  knew  that  he  would  when  he  saw 
her  face — would  forgive  her  with  a  cry  for  thewasteof  the  hot, 
revengeful  days,  the  sleepless  nights,  since  they  had  parted. 
Her  face  swam  before  him,  between  the  hemlock  boughs, 
but  he  was  not  ready  yet  to  forgive,  not  yet,  not  until  he  got 
to  Roselands  and  she  met  him  with  her  wistful  eyes !  He  was 
not  a  fool ;  the  Absolute  within  him  knew  where  lay  the  need 
for  forgiveness,  but  it  was  deeply  overlaid  with  human  pride 
and  wrath.  He  was  at  the  old,  old  trick  of  anger  with  another 
when  the  fault  was  all  his  own.  As  for  Ludwell  Gary  — 


392  LEWIS   RAND 

His  hand  closed  with  force  upon  the  bridle  and  his  eyes 
narrowed.  "From  the  first,  from  that  day  upon  the  Justice's 
Bench,  from  that  day  when  we  gathered  nuts  together,  I  must 
have  hated.  Now  it  is  warp  and  woof,  warp  and  woof!"  He 
touched  Selim  v/ith  the  spur.  "  If  there  were  truly  a  heaven 
and  truly  a  hell,  and  I,  in  flames  myself,  saw  him  in  Abra 
ham's  bosom,  not  to  escape  from  that  torment  would  I  call 
to  him,  'Once  we  were  neighbours,  once  it  seemed  that  we 
might  have  been  friends  —  come  down,  come  down  and  help 
me,  Gary!'" 

He  laughed,  a  harsh  sound  that  came  back  from  the  rock 
above  him.  By  no  means  always,  far  from  even  often,  a 
hardened  or  an  evil  man,  to-day  the  stream  of  thought  was 
stirred  and  sullied  from  every  black  pool  and  weedy  depth, 
and  there  came  floating  up  folly,  waste,  and  sin.  His  reason 
slept.  Had  he,  by  some  Inquisitor  not  to  be  disobeyed,  been 
suddenly  obliged  to  give  why  and  wherefore  for  his  hatred, 
the  trained  intellect  must  have  agreed  with  the  questioner, 
"These  causes  fail  of  sufficiency."  That  was  true,  but  the 
truth  was  sophistry.  He  dealt  now  with  the  fact  that  he  hated, 
and  in  his  mind,  as  he  rode  at  speed  along  the  river  road,  he 
did  not  even  review  the  past  which  had  given  birth  to  this 
present.  He  hated,  and  his  hand  closed  upon  the  rein  within 
it  as  though  there  was  there,  in  addition,  another  thread. 

A  hemlock  bough  brushed  violently  against  his  face.  He 
struck  it  aside,  and,  coming  to  the  rocky  top  of  a  little  rise, 
checked  Selim  for  a  moment  of  the  fresher  air.  It  came  like 
a  sigh  from  the  darkening  clouds.  Rand  looked  out  over 
field  and  forest  to  the  massed  horizon,  then  shook  the  reins, 
and  Selim  picked  his  way  down  the  ridge  to  a  woodland 
bottom  through  which  flowed  a  stream.  Rand  heard  the 
ripple  of  the  water.  A  jutting  boulder,  crowned  by  a  moun 
tain  ash,  hid  the  road  before  him ;  he  turned  it  and  saw  the 


THE   RIV^R   ROAD  393 

stream,  some  yards  away,  flowing  over  mossed  rocks  and 
beneath  a  dark  fringe  of  laurel.  He  saw  more  than  the 
stream,  for  a  horseman  had  paused  upon  the  little  rocky 
strand,  and,  hearing  hoofs  behind  him,  had  partly  turned  his 
own  steed.  Rand's  hand  dragged  at  the  bridle-rein  and  Selim 
stood  still. 

For  a  moment  the  two  men,  so  suddenly  confronted,  sat 
their  horses  and  stared  at  each  other.  Between  them  was  a 
narrow  rocky  space,  about  Rand  a  heavy  frame  of  leaves, 
behind  Gary  the  clear  flowing  stream.  Above  the  treetops 
the  mounting  clouds  were  dark,  but  the  sun  rode  hot  and  high 
in  a  round  of  unflecked  azure.  The  silence  held  for  a  heart 
beat,  then  Rand  spoke  thickly:  "So  you,  too,  took  the  river 
road?" 

"Yes.  It  is  rough  but  short.  When  did  you  leave  Rich 
mond?" 

"As  soon  as  I  could.  You  would  have  been  better  pleased, 
would  you  not,  had  I  never  left  it  ?  In  your  opinion,  I  should 
be  in  durance  there,  laid  by  the  heels  with  Aaron  Burr ! " 

"You  are  not  yourself,  Mr.  Rand." 

"  Do  not  push  innocence  upon  the  board !  When  did  it 
begin,  your  deep  interest  in  my  concerns  ?  Before  the  world 
was  made,  I  think,  for  always  we  have  been  at  odds.  But 
this  —  this  especial  matter,  Ludwell  Gary,  this  began  with  the 
letter  which  you  wrote  and  signed  'Aurelius'!" 

"A  letter  that  told  the  truth,  Mr.  Rand." 

"That  is  as  may  be.  Telling  the  truth  is  at  times  an  occu 
pation  full  of  danger." 

"Is  it?" 

"The  nineteenth  of  February  —  ah,  I  have  you  there! 
Was  it  not  —  was  it  not  a  pleasant  employment  for  a  snowy 
night  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  learn  news  of  an  enemy  —  news 
the  more  piquant  for  the  lips  that  gave  it!" 


394  LEWIS  RAND 

"You  are  speaking,  sir,  both  madly  and  falsely!" 

They  pressed  their  horses  more  closely  together.  Gary  was 
pale  with  anger,  but  upon  Rand's  face  was  a  curious  dark 
ness.  Men  had  seen  Gideon  look  so,  and  in  old  Stephen  Rand 
the  peculiarity  had  been  marked.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a 
voice  that  matched  his  aspect.  "  Last  October  in  the  Char- 
lottesville  court  room  —  even  that  insult  was  not  insult 
merely,  but  a  trap  as  well!  It  is  to  be  acknowledged  that 
yours  was  the  master  mind.  I  walked  into  your  trap/' 

"That  which  I  did  is  not  to  be  called  a  trap.  Your  ambi 
tion  enmeshed  you  then,  as  your  passion  blinds  you  now." 

Rand's  voice  darkened  and  fell.  "Who  gave  you  —  who 
gave  you  the  right  of  inquisition  ?  What  has  your  soul  or 
your  way  of  thinking  to  do  with  mine  ?  You  are  not  my 
keeper.  I  would  not  take  salvation  at  your  hands  —  by  God, 
no!  Why  should  the  thought  of  you  lie  at  the  bottom  of 
each  day  ?  It  shall  not  lie  at  the  bottom  of  this  one !  I  do 
not  know  where  first  we  met,  but  now  we  '11  part.  You  have 
laid  your  finger  here  and  you  have  laid  it  there,  now  take 
your  hand  away ! " 

"Do  you  well,  and  I  will,"  said  Gary  sternly. 

The  other  drew  a  labouring  breath.  "Two  weeks  ago  I 
was  in  Williamsburgh,  in  the  Apollo,  listening  in  the  heat  to 
idle  talk  —  and  you  in  Richmond,  you  came  at  her  call ! 
You  came  down  the  quiet  street,  and  in  between  the  box 
bushes,  and  up  the  steps  under  the  honeysuckle.  What  did 
you  say  to  her  there  in  the  dusk,  by  the  window  ?  You  were 
a  Gary  —  you  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  loved  past  —  you 
had  all  the  shibboleths  —  you  could  comfort,  commiserate, 
and  counsel!  Ha!  J  wish  I  might  have  heard.  'Aurelius' 
dealing  with  the  forsworn  and  the  absent!  'Here  the  blot, 
and  there  the  stain,  and  yon  a  rent  that's  hard  to  mend. 
If  there 's  salvation,  I  see  it  not  at  present.'  So  you  resolved 


GARY  SAW  AND   FLUNG  OUT   HIS   ARM,   SWERVING   HIS   HORSE, 
BUT  TOO   LATE 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE   RIVER   ROAD  395 

all  her  doubts,  and  laid  within  her  hand  every  link  of  a  long 
chain.  You  have  my  thanks." 

" I  will  not,"  said  Gary,  after  a  silence,  —  "I  will  not  be 
moved  by  you  now,  and  I  will  not  talk  with  you  now.  You 
are  beside  yourself.  I  will  say  good-day  to  you,  Mr.  Rand, 
and  in  a  less  passionate  hour  I  will  tell  you  that  you  have 
judged  me  wrongly." 

He  gathered  up  his  reins  and  slightly  turned  his  horse. 
It  had  been  wiser  to  break  into  violent  speech,  or  even  to 
deal  the  other  a  blow.  As  it  was,  the  very  restraint  of  his  ac 
tion  was  spark  to  gunpowder.  Rand's  hand  fell  to  a  holster, 
drew  and  raised  a  pistol.  Gary  saw  and  flung  out  his  arm, 
swerving  his  horse,  but  too  late.  There  was  a  flash  and  a 
report.  The  reins  dropped  from  Gary's  grasp;  he  sank  for 
ward  upon  his  horse's  neck,  then,  while  the  terrified  animal 
reared  and  plunged,  fell  heavily  to  earth  and  lay  beside  the 
stream  with  a  ball  through  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HOMEWARD 

THE  frightened  birds  rose  in  numbers  from  the  forest 
trees.  Gary's  horse,  with  a  snort  of  terror,  reared  and 
turned.  Rand  flung  himself  from  Selim  and  dashed 
forward  to  the  black's  bridle,  but  he  was  too  late.  The  horse 
clattered  down  the  little  strand,  plunged  into  the  flashing 
water,  and  in  another  moment  reached  the  opposite  bank 
and  tore  away  along  the  river  road. 

The  sound  of  hoofs  died  away.  All  sound  seemed  to  die, 
that  of  the  stream,  of  the  birds,  of  the  air  in  the  trees.  It  was 
as  still  as  the  desert.  Very  quietly  and  subtly  the  outward 
world  put  itself  in  accord  with  the  inward,;  never  again  would 
sky  or  earth,  tree  or  leaf  or  crystal  water,  be  what  it  was  an 
hour  ago.  Life  and  the  scenery  of  life  had  a  new  aspect. 

The  murderer  moved  to  the  side  of  the  murdered,  knelt 
stiffly,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  heart.  It,  too,  was  still. 
Rand  stood  up.  The  pistol  was  yet  in  his  clasp;  he  swung 
his  arm  above  his  head  and  hurled  the  weapon  into  the 
stream.  A  pace  or  two  away  was  a  smooth  and  rounded  rock 
like  a  giant  pebble.  He  sat  down  upon  it,  locked  his  hands, 
and  looked  about  him.  The  sky  was  blue,  the  leaves  were 
green,  the  sun  shone  hot,  the  water  was  at  its  ancient  song  — 
whence,  then,  came  the  noxious  change,  and  what  was  the 
matter  with  the  universe  ?  Gary  lay  among  the  stones,  with 
head  thrown  back  and  one  arm  stretched  out  as  though  the 
hand  were  pointing.  The  face  was  quiet,  set  in  the  icy  beauty 
of  death,  and  young.  There  came  a  roll  of  thunder.  Rand 
looked  at  his  clasped  hands,  opened  them,  and  moved  the 


HOMEWARD  397 

right  one  slightly  to  and  fro.  There  was  blood  upon  his  coat- 
sleeve  —  a  great  smear.  He  drew  a  sighing  breath.  He  felt 
as  a  voyager  might  who  awakened  on  a  planet  not  his  own 
and  at  midnight  saw  the  faint  star  where  once  he  lived.  As 
yet  the  wonder  numbed.  The  complete  cessation  of  anger, 
too,  was  confusing.  There  was  only  the  plane  of  existence, 
grey  and  featureless.  This  lasted  some  moments,  then  the 
lights  began  to  play. 

He  rose  from  the  stone  and,  going  to  the  water's  edge, 
knelt  and  tried  to  wash  the  blood  from  his  sleeve,  but  without 
success.  He  stood  up  with  a  frown.  The  clouds  were  high 
above  the  treetops,  though  the  sun  yet  shone.  At  a  little 
distance  Selim  was  quietly  grazing,  the  birds  had  returned 
to  their  song,  the  squirrels  to  their  play  along  the  leafy  boughs. 
Rand  looked  at  his  watch.  "Twelve  o'clock  —  twelve 
o'clock."  Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  "The  pistol,  with 
my  name  engraved  on  it  - 

He  had  flung  the  weapon  far  into  the  water.  The  stream 
was  hardly  more  than  a  wide  brook,  but  its  bed  was  broken, 
and  above  and  below  the  little  ford  the  water  fell  over  ledges 
into  small,  deep  pools.  Where  had  the  pistol  fallen  ?  If  into 
one  of  these,  he  could  not  find  it  again.  He  had  no  time  to 
sound  them  one  by  one.  He  moved  along  the  bank,  his  keen 
eyes  searching  the  water.  The  pistol  was  nowhere  visible;  it 
must  have  gone  into  midstream,  into  a  pool  below  a  cascade. 
If  so,  it  might  lie  there,  undiscovered,  a  thousand  years.  He 
stood  irresolute.  Could  he  have  done  so,  he  would  have 
dragged  the  stream,  but  there  was  now  no  time  to  squander. 
Once  more  he  made  certain  that  it  lay  nowhere  in  clear  water 
or  near  the  shore,  then  abruptly  left  the  search. 

He  stood  in  thought  for  another  moment,  then  with  delib 
eration  moved  to  his  victim's  side  and  looked  down  upon  him 
with  a  face  almost  as  blank  and  still  as  the  dead  man's  own. 


398  LEWIS   RAND 

Presently  he  spoke:  "Good-bye,  Gary."  The  sound  of  his 
own  voice,  strained  and  strange,  hardly  raised  above  a  whis 
per  and  yet,  in  the  silence  of  this  new  world,  more  loud  than 
thunder,  broke  the  spell.  He  uttered  a  strangled  cry,  dashed 
up  the  strand  to  the  grazing  horse,  flung  himself  into  the 
saddle,  and  applied  the  spur. 

He  and  Selim  did  not  cross  the  stream.  His  mind  worked 
automatically,  but  it  was  a  trained  mind,  and  knew  what  the 
emergency  demanded.  He  retraced  the  river  road  to  a  point 
beyond  the  rock  and  the  mountain  ash,  and  there  left  it. 
Once  in  the  burned  herbage  under  the  trees,  he  looked  back 
to  the  road.  There  was  rock  and  there  was  black  leaf-mould. 
If  in  the  latter  any  hoof-prints  showed  confusedly,  the  com 
ing  storm  held  promise  of  a  pelting  and  obliterating  rain. 
He  pushed  into  a  thick-set  wood,  and  began  a  desperate 
ride  across  country.  It  was  necessary  to  strike  the  main 
road  below  Red  Fields. 

Their  way  was  now  dangerous  enough,  but  he  and  Selim 
made  no  stay  for  that.  They  went  at  speed  over  stock  and 
stone,  between  resinous  pines,  through  sumach  and  sassafras. 
Lightnings  were  beginning  to  play,  and  the  thunder  to  roll 
more  loudly.  The  sunbeams  were  gone,  the  trees  without 
motion,  the  air  hot  and  laden.  Horse  and  man  panted  on. 
Rand's  mind  made  swift  calculation.  He  had  ordered  Young 
Isham  to  walk  the  mare.  For  all  that  time  had  seemed  to 
stop,  there  at  the  stream  behind  him,  the  minutes  were  no 
longer  than  other  minutes,  and  there  had  passed  of  them  no 
great  number.  He  had  ridden  from  the  ford  to  the  stream  at 
speed,  and  now  he  was  going  as  rapidly.  He  would  presently 
reach  the  main  road,  and  Young  Isham  would  not  have 
passed. 

It  fell  as  he  had  foreseen.  One  last  burst  through  brush 
and  vine  and  scrub  and  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood. 


HOMEWARD  399 

Before  them  through  the  trees  he  saw  the  main  road.    Rand 
checked  the  horse.    "Stand  a  bit,  Selim,  while  I  play  the 


scout." 


Dismounting,  he  moved  with  caution  through  a  mass  of 
dogwood  and  laurel  to  the  bank.  At  a  distance  beneath  him 
lay  the  road,  bare  under  the  storm  clouds.  Above  and  below 
where  he  stood  it  was  visible  for  some  rods,  and  upon  it 
appeared  neither  man  nor  beast.  He  went  back  to  Selim, 
mounted,  and  together  they  made  shift  to  descend  the  red 
bank.  As,  with  a  noise  of  breaking  twigs  and  falling  earth 
and  stone,  they  reached  the  road,  a  man,  hitherto  hidden 
by  the  giant  bole  of  the  oak  beneath  which  he  had  sat  down 
to  rest,  rose  and  came  round  his  tree  to  see  what  made  the 
commotion.  Between  the  cause  and  the  investigator  was  per 
haps  fifty  feet  of  road.  Rand  muttered  an  oath,  then,  with 
a  characteristic  cool  resolve,  rode  up  to  M.  Achille  Pincornet 
and  wished  him  good-day. 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Rand,"  echoed  the  dancing  master,  and 
stared  at  the  bank.  "Parbleu,  sir!  Why  did  you  come  that 
way?" 

"I  left  my  servant  a  little  way  down  the  road  and  struck 
into  the  woods  after  a  doe  I  started.  I  '11  gallop  back  and 
meet  him  now.  Are  you  for  Gharlottesville,  Mr.  Pincornet  ? " 

"Not  to-day,  sir.  I  have  a  dancing  class  at  Red  Fields." 
Mr.  Pincornet  still  stared.  "I  would  say,  sir,  that  the  chase 
had  been  long  and  hard." 

Rand  laughed.  "Am  I  so  torn  and  breathless?  No,  no; 
it  was  short  but  rough  —  a  few  minutes  and  perhaps  half  a 
mile !  Well,  I  will  rejoin  my  negro  and  we  '11  make  for  town 
before  the  storm  breaks." 

"Wait  here  and  your  negro  will  come  to  you." 

"Mahomet  to  the  mountain  ?  No;  he  is  a  sleepy-head,  and 
I  shall  find  him  loitering.  Good-day,  good-day!" 


4oo  LEWIS   RAND 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  left  the  dancing  master  still 
staring  and  turned  Selim's  head  to  the  east.  He  rode  quickly, 
but  no  longer  headlong,  and  he  scanned  with  deliberation 
the  long  stretch  of  the  main  road.  When  at  last  he  saw  that 
which  he  sought,  he  backed  his  horse  into  the  shadow  of  a 
great  wayside  walnut,  drew  rein,  and  awaited  Young  Isham's 
approach. 

The  boy  and  the  mare  came  steadily  on,  moving  at  quick 
ened  speed  under  the  lowering  skies.  Young  Isham  did  not 
see  his  master  until  he  was  almost  beneath  the  walnut  tree: 
when  he  did  so,  he  uttered  a  cry  and  well-nigh  fell  from  the 
mare. 

"  Gawd-a-moughty,  marster!" 

Rand  spoke  without  moving.  "Get  down,  Young  Isham, 
and  come  here.'* 

The  negro  obeyed,  though  with  shaking  knees.  "Lawd 
hab  mercy,  marster,  whar  you  come  f'om  ?  I  done  lef  you  at 
de  ford." 

"I'll  speak  to  you  of  that  presently.  Whom  have  you 
passed  on  the  road  since  you  left  the  ford  ?  How  many  people 
and  what  kind  of  people  ?  Think  now." 

"I  ain'  pass  skeerce  a  soul,  sah.  Eberybody  skurryin'  in 
Pom  de  storm.  Jes'  some  niggahs  wid  mules,  an'  a  passel 
ob  chillern,  an'  a  man  I  don'  know.  Dey  ain'  stop  ter  speak 
ter  me,  an  I  ain'  stop  ter  speak  ter  dem." 

Rand  leaned  from  his  saddle  and  laid  the  butt  of  his  rid 
ing-whip  upon  the  boy's  shoulder.  "Look  at  me,  Young 
Isham." 

"Yaas,  marster." 

"You  did  not  leave  me  at  the  ford.  We  took  the  main  road 
together,  and  we've  been  travelling  together  ever  since, 
except  that  perhaps  ten  minutes  ago  I  rode  on  ahead  and 
waited  for  you  beneath  this  tree."  He  raised  the  whip  handle 


HOMEWARD  401 

and  brought  it  down  heavily.  "Look  at  me,  Young  Isham, 
-  in  the  eyes." 

The  boy  whimpered.    "Yaas,  marster." 

"We  crossed  the  ford  at  the  mill." 

"Yaas,  marster." 

"And  we  kept  on  together  by  the  main  road." 

"We  —    Yaas,  marster." 

"We  have  travelled  together  all  the  way  from  Richmond, 
and  we  have  travelled  by  the  main  road.  Now  say  what  I 
have  said." 

"Marster  —  " 

"Say  it!" 

"  Don',  marster,  don' !  I  '11  say  jes'  what  you  say !  We 
done  cross  de  ford  an'  tek  de  main  road  — " 

"Yes." 

"An'  we  done  keep  de  main  road,  jes'  lak  dis." 

"That's  enough.  If  you  forget  and  say  the  wrong  thing, 
Young  Isham,  - 

"  Don',  marster !  Fer  de  Lawd's  sake,  don'  look  at  me  lak 
dat !  I  ain'  gwine  fergit,  sah,  —  de  Lawd  Jesus  know  I 
ain'!" 

Rand  lifted  the  whip  handle  from  his  shoulder.  "Mount, 
then,  and  come  on.  There's  no  good  in  idling  here." 

A  few  moments  later  they  overtook  and  passed  Mr.  Pin- 
cornet,  now  briskly  walking,  kit  under  arm,  toward  his  dan 
cing  class.  They  bowed  in  passing,  and  Rand,  turning  in  his 
saddle,  looked  back  at  the  figure  in  faded  finery.  "There's 
danger  there,"  he  thought.  "Where  isn't  it  now?"  As  he 
faced  again  toward  Charlottesville,  his  glance  fell  upon  Young 
Isham,  and  he  saw  that  the  boy  was  looking  fixedly  at  his 
sleeve. 

The  master  made  no  movement  of  avoidance.  "The 
mare's  going  well  enough,"  he  said  quietly.  "We'll  draw 


402  LEWIS   RAND 

rein  at  Red  Fields,  and  then  hurry  home.  Use  your  whip  and 
bring  her  on." 

They  paused  at  Red  Fields,  then  went  on  to  the  edge  of 
town.  The  forked  lightnings  were  playing  and  the  trees 
beginning  to  sway.  "We'll  stop  a  moment,"  Rand  said 
over  his  shoulder,  "at  Mr.  Mocket's." 

Door  and  window  of  the  small  house  where  Tom  and  Vinie 
lived  were  shut  against  the  storm.  Tom  was  yet  in  Rich 
mond,  and  Vinie  was  afraid  of  lightning.  In  the  darkened 
atmosphere  the  zinnias  and  marigolds  up  and  down  the  path 
struck  a  brave  note  of  red  and  yellow.  The  grapevine  on  the 
porch  was  laden  with  purple  bunches  that  the  rising  wind 
bade  fair  to  break  and  scatter.  Rand  dismounted,  with  a 
gesture  bidding  the  boy  to  await  him,  entered  the  broken  gate, 
and,  walking  up  the  path  between  the  marigolds,  knocked 
upon  the  closed  door. 

There  was  a  sound  within  as  of  some  one  rising  has 
tily,  an  exclamation,  and  Vinie  opened  the  door.  "I  knew 
'twas  you!  I  just  said  to  myself,  'That  ith  Mr.  Rand's 
knock,'  and  it  was !  Wait,  thir,  and  I  '11  make  the  room 

light.- 

She  threw  open  the  closed  shutters.  "I'm  jutht  afraid  of 
lightning  when  I  'm  by  myself.  How  are  you,  thir  ? " 

"Very  well.  Vinie,  I  want  a  basin  of  warm  water  and 
soap." 

"Yeth,  thir.   The  kettle's  on.    I'll  fix  it  in  Tom's  room." 

In  the  bare  little  chamber  Rand  washed  the  blood  from  his 
coat-sleeve.  It  was  not  easy  to  do,  but  at  last  the  cloth  was 
clean.  He  came  out  of  the  room  with  the  basin  in  his  hands. 
Vinie,  waiting  in  the  little  hall,  started  forward.  "Open  the 
back  door,"  he  said,  "and  let  me  throw  this  out."  Vinie  tried 
to  take  the  basin.  "I'll  empty  it,  thir."  Her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  water.  "You've  hurt  yourself!" 


HOMEWARD  403 

"No,"  answered  Rand.  "I  have  not.  It  is  nothing — a 
bit  of  a  cut  that  I  gave  myself." 

He  pushed  the  door  open  and  poured  out  the  stained  water 
upon  the  ground,  then  took  fresh  from  a  bucket  standing  by 
and  rinsed  the  basin  before  he  set  it  down  upon  the  table. 
"Vinie  —  " 

"Yeth,  thir." 

"I  want  a  promise  from  you." 

"Yeth,  Mr.  Rand." 

"You've  always  been  my  good  friend,  ever  since  long  ago 
when  you  came  from  the  little  house  in  Richmond  to  this 
little  house  in  Charlottesville,  and  I  was  reading  law  with 
Mr.  Henning.  Why,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  with 
out  you  and  Tom  ! " 

Vinie's  eyes  filled.  "I  could  n't  —  Tom  and  me  could  n't 
—  do  without  you,  Mr.  Rand.  You  're  our  best  friend,  and 
we  'd  die  for  you,  and  you  know  it.  I  '11  promise  you  any 
thing,  and  I'll  keep  my  promise." 

"I  know  that  you  will.  It's  nothing  more  than  this. 
Vinie,  I  don't  want  it  known  that  I  stopped  here  to-day,  and 
I  want  you  to  forget  —  look  at  me,  Vinie." 

"Yeth,  thir." 

"  I  want  you  to  forget  what  I  asked  you  for,  and  what  I 
did  in  Tom's  room." 

"Yeth,  thir,"  said  Vinie,  with  large  eyes.  "And  that  you 
cut  yourself?" 

"That,  too.  Everything,  Vinie,  except  that,  coming  along 
the  main  road,  I  stopped  a  moment  at  the  gate  to  say  how 
d'  ye  do,  and  to  tell  you  that  Tom  would  be  at  home  in  two 
or  three  days.  That  is  all,  and  my  coming  into  the  house 
and  the  rest  of  it  never  was.  Do  you  understand  ? " 

"I  won't  say  anything  at  all,  thir." 

"It's  a  promise?" 


404  LEWIS   RAND 

"Yeth,  thir.    I  promise." 

They  went  out  into  the  porch  together.  "Ithn't  there 
anything  else  ? " 

Rand,  studying  in  silence  the  clouds  and  the  whirling  dust, 
had  started  down  the  step  or  two  to  the  path  between  the 
marigolds.  He  paused.  "I  can't  think  of  anything,  Vinie"; 
then,  after  a  moment,  and  very  oddly,  "Would  you  give  me, 
once  more,  a  cup  of  cool  water  ? " 

Vinie  brought  it  in  her  hand.  "You  always  thaid  this 
water  washed  the  dust  off  clean." 

Rand  drank,  and  gave  back  the  cup.  "Thank  you.  I'll 
go  on  now.  How  your  vine  has  borne  this  year ! " 

"Yeth.  I'm  going  to  make  some  wine  this  week.  Good 
bye." 

Her  visitor  passed  through  the  little  yard,  between  the  vivid 
flowers.  At  the  gate  he  turned  his  head.  "Tom  is  really 
coming,  Vinie,  in  two  or  three  days." 

"Yeth,  thir,"  said  Vinie.   "I'll  be  mighty  glad  to  see  him." 

Rand  mounted,  and  he  and  Young  Isham  rode  away. 
Vinie  stood  upon  the  porch  and  watched  them  as  far  as  the 
turn  in  the  road.  A  gust  of  hot  wind  blew  against  her,  ruffling 
her  calico  dress  and  lifting  light  tendrils  of  hair  from  her 
forehead  and  neck.  In  the  southwest  the  lightning  flashed 
fiercely  and  there  came  a  crash  of  thunder.  Vinie  uttered 
a  startled  cry,  clapped  her  hands  to  her  ears,  and  ran  into 
the  house. 

Rand  rode  through  a  portion  of  the  main  street  of  Char- 
lottesville.  He  kept  the  pace  of  a  man  who  wishes  to  be  at 
home  before  the  rain  falls,  but  his  manner  of  going  showed 
no  undue  haste  and  no  trepidation.  Faces  at  doors  and  win 
dows,  men  gathered  before  the  Eagle  and  the  post-office, 
greeted  him.  He  answered  each  salute  in  kind,  and  at  the 
Eagle  drew  rein  long  enough  to  reply  to  the  inevitable  ques- 


HOMEWARD  405 

tions  as  to  Richmond  and  the  trial,  and  to  agree  that  the 
rain  was  needed,  since  the  main  road,  from  Bates's  Mill  on, 
was  nothing  but  a  trough  of  dust. 

"That's  so,"  chimed  in  one.  "If  it  was  n't  so  rough,  the 
river  road  would  be  pleasanter  travelling.  There 's  the  first 
drop!" 

Rand  looked  up  at  the  clouds.  "I  '11  gallop  on,  gentlemen. 
A  rain  is  coming  that  will  lay  the  dust." 

Once  upon  the  road  to  Roselands,  neither  horse  nor  mare 
was  spared.  Rand  travelled  at  speed  beneath  an  inky  sky. 
At  the  turn  to  Greenwood  he  looked  once  toward  the  dis 
tant  house,  half  hidden  by  mighty  oaks.  It  was  no  more 
than  once.  He  had  a  vision  of  a  riderless  horse,  tearing  away 
from  a  stream,  through  the  woods,  and  he  thought,  "How 
soon?"  He  drew  a  difficult  breath,  and  he  put  for  a  mo 
ment  his  hand  before  his  eyes,  then  spurred  Selim  on,  and  in 
a  little  while  came  within  sight  of  his  own  gates. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 

AS  he  rode  up  the  drive,  he  saw  Jacqueline  waiting  for 
him,  a  gleam  of  white  upon  the  grey  doorstone,  be 
yond  the  wind-tossed  beech.  He  dismounted,  sent 
Young  Isham  around  with  the  horses,  and  walked  across  the 
burned  grass.  She  met  him  with  outstretched  arms,  beneath 
the  beech  tree.  "Lewis,  Lewis!" 

He  held  her  to  him,  bent  back  her  face,  kissed  her  brow 
and  eyes  and  mouth.  There  was  a  wild  energy  in  clasp  and 
touch.  "You  love  me  still?"  he  cried.  "That's  true  — 
that's  true,  Jacqueline  ?" 

"You  know  —  you  know  it's  true!  I  was  born  only  to 
love  you  —  and  I  thought  that  you  would  never  come ! " 

The  thunder  crashed  above  them,  and  the  advance  of  the 
rain  was  heard  upon  the  beech  leaves.  "Come  indoors  — 
come  out  of  the  storm!"  She  drew  his  hand  that  she  held 
to  her  and  laid  it  on  her  bosom.  "Oh,  welcome  home,  my 
dear!" 

They  went  together  into  the  house  and  into  their  own 
chamber.  The  windows  were  dark  with  the  now  furious 
rain,  but  a  light  fire  burned  upon  the  hearth.  Rand  stood 
looking  down  upon  it.  His  wife  watched  him,  her  arms  rest 
ing  upon  the  back  of  a  great  flowered  chair.  Suddenly  she 
spoke.  "Lewis,  what  is  the  matter?" 

He  half  turned  toward  her.  "  I  believed  that  you  would  see. 
And  yet  you  were  blind  to  that  earlier  course  of  mine." 

"Something  dreadful  is  the  matter.    Tell  me  at  once." 

After  a  moment  he  repeated  sombrely,  "'At  once.'   How 


HUSBAND  AND   WIFE  407 

can  I  tell  you  at  once  ?  There  are  things  that  are  slowly 
brought  about  by  all  time,  and  to  show  them  as  they  truly 
are  would  require  all  time  again.  How  can  I  tell  you  at  all  ? 
My  God!" 

"I  feel,"  she  answered,  "years  older  than  I  did  two  weeks 
ago.  If  there  was  something  then  to  forgive,  I  have  forgiven 
it.  Our  souls  did  not  come  together  to  share  only  the  lit 
paths,  the  honey  in  the  cup.  Tell  me,  Lewis." 

"It  is  black  and  bitter  —  there  is  no  light,  and  it  will  kill 
the  sweetness.  If  I  could  live  with  you  and  you  never  know 
it,  I  would  try  to  do  so  —  try  to  keep  it  secret  from  you  as  I 
did  that  lesser  thing.  I  cannot  —  even  now,  without  a  word, 
you  know  in  part." 

"Tell  me  all  —  that  lesser  thing." 

Rand  turned  from  the  fire  and,  coming  to  the  great  chair 
against  whose  back  she  leaned,  knelt  in  its  flowered  lap  and 
bowed  his  forehead  upon  her  hands.  "  I  am  glad,"  he  said, 
in  a  voice  so  low  that  she  bent  to  hear  it,  —  "  I  am  glad  now 
that  I  have  no  son." 

There  was  a  silence  while  the  rain  dashed  against  the  win 
dow-panes  and  the  thunder  rolled  overhead ;  then  Jacqueline 
pressed  her  cheek  against  his  bowed  head.  "What  have  you 
done?"  she  whispered.  "Tell  me  —  oh,  tell  me!" 

After  a  moment  he  told  her.    "  I  have  killed  a  man." 

"Killed  —   It  was  by  accident!" 

"  No.  It  was  not  accident.  I  came  upon  him  by  accident  — 
I'll  claim  no  more  than  that.  The  black  rage  was  there  to 
blind  me,  make  me  deaf —  mole  and  adder!  But  it  was  not 
accident,  what  I  did.  I'll  not  cheat  you  here,  and  I'll  not 
cheat  myself.  The  name  of  it  is  murder." 

He  felt  her  hands  quiver  beneath  his  forehead,  and  he 
put  up  his  own  and  clasped  her  wrist.  "Are  you  thinking, 
' 1  should  have  left  him  in  the  tobacco-fields '  ?  As  for  me, 


408  LEWIS   RAND 

I  know  that  I  ought  never  to  have  spoken  to  you  there  be 
neath  the  apple  tree." 

"Lewis,  who  was  the  man  ?" 

He  made  no  answer,  and  after  a  moment  or  two,  numbed 
and  grey,  had  passed,  she  needed  none.  The  truth  fell  like  a 
stroke  from  glowing  iron.  With  a  cry  she  dragged  her  hands 
from  Rand's,  left  the  chair,  and,  crossing  the  room,  flung 
herself  down  beside  the  chintz-covered  couch  and  cowered 
there  with  a  hidden  face.  Rand  arose  and,  walking  to  the 
window,  stared  at  the  veil  of  rain  and  the  stabbing  lightning. 
The  clock  ticked,  a  log  upon  the  hearth  parted  with  a  soft 
sound,  from  the  back  of  the  house  came  faintly  the  homely 
cheer  of  the  servants'  voices.  How  deadly,  how  solemnly 
still,  how  wet  and  cold,  was  now  a  rocky  strand  upon  the 
river  road !  He  left  the  window  and,  coming  to  the  couch, 
looked  down  upon  the  crouching  figure  of  his  wife.  His  brain 
was  not  numbed;  it  was  pitilessly  awake,  and  he  suffered. 
The  name  of  his  star  was  Wormwood. 

At  last  she  stirred,  lifted  her  head  from  her  arm,  and 
arose,  moving  stiffly  and  slowly  as  though  she  had  grown  old. 
Her  face  was  drawn  and  colorless.  She  moved,  mechanically, 
to  the  fire,  laid  fresh  wood  upon  it,  and,  taking  a  small  broom 
from  the  corner,  made  the  hearth  clean;  then,  returning,  sat 
down  upon  the  couch  that  was  printed  with  bright  roses  and 
held  out  her  hands.  "Come,"  she  said,  in  her  low,  musical 
voice.  "Come,  tell  me — " 

He  sank  upon  his  knees  beside  her  and  bowed  his  head 
upon  her  lap.  "Jacqueline,  Jacqueline!  I  rode  away  from 
Richmond,  in  black  anger  —  ' 

He  told  her  all,  now  speaking  with  a  forced  and  hard 
deliberation,  now  with  a  broken  and  strangled  voice,  short 
Words  and  short  sentences  —  at  the  last,  monosyllables. 

When  the  tale  was  done,  they  stayed  for  a  little,  motionless. 


HUSBAND  AND   WIFE  409 

There  was  yet  bright  lightning  with  long  peals  of  thunder, 
and  the  rain  beat  with  passion  against  the  panes.  Jacque 
line  moistened  her  lips,  tried  to  speak,  at  last  found  a  broken 
and  uncertain  voice.  "You  left  him  —  lying  there  ?" 

"The  horse  broke  away  —  ran  on  through  the  wood.  It 
will  have  been  caught  ere  now,  or  it  will  make  its  way  to 
Greenwood.  Is  Fairfax  Gary  at  home  ?" 

"He  came  last  night.   He  was  at  Fontenoy  this  morning.'5 

Rand  stood  up.  "It  is  done,  and  all  the  rueing  in  the  world 
will  not  make  the  breath  alight  again."  With  a  gesture, 
singular  and  decided,  he  walked  to  the  window  and  again 
looked  out  at  the  rain  and  lightning.  "  If  I  know  —  if  I  know 
Fairfax  Gary —  Has  the  horse  been  captured  —  and  where  ? 
It  may  be  known  now,  and  it  may  not  be  known  for  hours." 
He  stood,  reviewing  chances,  and  the  shaken  soul  began  to 
settle  to  its  ancient  base.  At  last  he  turned.  "There's  danger 
enough,  but  the  struggle  must  be  made.  If  you  love  me  still, 
I'll  find  the  heart  to  make  it;  ay,  and  to  succeed!"  Coming 
back  to  her,  he  took  her  in  his  arms.  "You  do  love  me? 
That  is  n't  dead?" 

"I  love  you,  Lewis." 

"  Then,  by  God,  I  '11  fight  it  out !  Jacqueline,  Jacqueline  —  " 

She  presently  freed  herself.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  — 
what  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Lewis  ? " 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  done,  and  where  the  danger's 
greatest  — " 

"The  danger?" 

"The  danger  of  discovery." 

"Lewis  —  will  you  not  tell  them  ?" 

"Tell  them—" 

"  Is  it  not  —  oh,  Lewis,  is  it  not  the  only  thing  to  do  ?  Sin 
and  suffering  —  yes,  yes,  the  whole  world  sins  and  suffers! 
But  oh,  ignoble  to  sin  and  to  reject  the  suffering!" 


410  LEWIS   RAND 

He  stared  at  her  incredulously.  "  Do  you  know,  Jacqueline, 
—  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?" 

"Will  it  be  so  hard  ?"  she  asked,  and  put  out  her  arms  to 
him.  "It  is  right." 

"Let  me  understand,"  he  said.  "When  the  mist  cleared 
and  I  saw  him  lying  there,  I  sat  down  upon  a  stone,  and  I 
said  to  myself,  'This  is  a  strange  land,  and  I  am  to  eat  the 
fruits  thereof.'  For  a  while  I  did  not  think  of  moving.  You 
would  have  had  me  stay  there  as  he  stayed,  watch  there 
beside  him  until  men  came?" 

She  answered  almost  inaudibly,  "It  had  been  nobler." 

"And  then  and  there  to  have  given  myself  up  ?" 

"Lewis,  if  it  was  right  —  I  would  have  said  to  God  and 
the  world  and  him,  'It  is  the  least  that  I  can  do!'" 

He  stared  at  her.    "By  God,  the  amende  honorable!9' 

There  came  blinding  lightning,  followed  by  thunder  which 
seemed  to  shake  the  room.  Rand  crossed  to  the  hearth  and, 
with  his  booted  foot  upon  the  iron  dogs,  rested  his  arm  upon 
the  mantel-shelf  and  his  head  upon  his  hand.  "I'll  think  of 
that  awhile,"  he  said  harshly.  "That  means  disgrace  and 
may  mean  death." 

He  heard  the  drawing  of  her  breath.  There  was  a  knock  at 
the  door  followed  by  Mammy  Chloe's  voice.  "De  bread  an' 
meat  an'  wine  on  de  table,  marster." 

"Very  well,  Mammy,  I'll  come  presently,"  the  master 
answered;  then,  when  she  was  gone,  "This  is  the  earth, 
Jacqueline.  It  was  long  while  I  sat  there  upon  the  stone 
and  saw  matters  as  they  might  be  upon  another  plane,  but 
that  appearance  passed.  Because  for  those  moments  I  saw 
its  shape,  I  know  the  aspect  that  is  before  your  eyes.  But  it 
is  not  reality  that  you  see;  it  is  an  appearance,  thin  and  un 
substantial  as  the  mist  upon  the  hills.  Expiation,  purgation, 
aided  retribution,  the  criminal  to  spare  Justice  the  search, 


HUSBAND  AND   WIFE  411 

and  the  offender  against  Society  to  turn  and  throw  his  weight 
into  the  proper  scale !  —  that  is  a  dream  of  the  world  as  it 
may  become.  This  is  the  present  earth,  —  earth  of  the 
tobacco-fields,  earth  of  the  struggle,  earth  of  the  fight  for 
standing-room !  I  have  fought  —  and  I  have  fought  —  I  can 
not  cease  to  fight." 

With  his  foot  he  pushed  back  the  burning  wood.  "I  did 
not  kill  him  in  self-defence.  I  killed  him  in  anger.  That  is 
murder.  Say,  for  argument,  that  it  is  confessed  murder.  I 
will  tell  you,  as  a  lawyer,  what  that  means.  It  means  a  full 
stop.  Life  stopped,  work  stopped,  fame  stopped  —  a  period 
black  as  ink,  and  never  to  be  erased!  A  stop  deep  as  the 
grave  and  sharp  as  the  hangman's  drop,  and  the  record 
that  it  closes  empty,  vile,  read  at  the  best  with  horror  and 
pity,  read  at  the  worst  with  a  glance  aside  at  every  man  and 
woman  whom  the  stained  hand  had  ever  touched !  That  is 
what  would  come  if  I  followed  this  appearance."  He  struck 
the  hand  at  which  he  looked  against  the  mantel-shelf.  "And 
if  he  says,  'Ay,  Lewis  Rand,  it  is  so  that  I  would  do,'  I  will 
answer,  'Yes!  being  you!  —  but  what,  Ludwell  Gary,  had 
you  lain  in  my  cradle?"  His  face  worked  and  he  turned 
from  the  mantel  to  the  great  chair.  "Oh,  mother!"  he  said 
beneath  his  breath. 

Jacqueline  came  and  knelt  beside  him.  "Lewis,  Lewis, 
is  it  all  so  dark  ?" 

He  touched  her  hair  with  his  fingers.  "Dark!  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  in  a  bare,  light  place.  Underground,  you 
know,  but  bare  and  flooded  with  light.  Well,  Jacqueline, 
well-^" 

She  clung  to  him  without  speech,  and  he  went  on.  "There 
is  enough  to  create  suspicion.  We  were  travelling  at  the 
same  hour,  and  it  is  known  that  we  were  opponents.  The 
crossroads  where  I  slept  last  night  —  there  was  nothing, 


412  LEWIS   RAND 

I  think,  said  at  the  inn.  Then  the  forge,  and  the  mill.  At 
the  mill  they  will  swear  to  telling  me  that  he  took  the  main 
road,  and  since  they  could  not  see  the  ford,  they  must  suppose 
that  I,  too,  went  that  way.  The  main  road.  There's  the  in 
sistence.  I  kept  to  the  main  road.  As  for  Young  Isham,  I 
can  manage  him.  That  old  Frenchman  is  more  difficult. 
Danger  there  —  unless  he  holds  his  tongue.  There's  a  wit 
ness  indeed  lying  at  the  bottom  of  some  pool  below  the 
strand,  but  the  strand  may  sink  into  the  sea  before  that  witness 
is  found!  There  is  this  and  there  is  that,  but  they'll  serve 
no  warrant  on  the  this  and  that  the  world  can  see.  I  have 
won  more  difficult  cases." 

"You  propose,"  she  cried,  "to  lie  —  and  lie  —  and  lie!" 

After  a  moment  he  answered,  with  bitterness,  "  I  am  not 
unreasonable.  I  do  not  match  white  with  black.  The  dyer's 
hand  accepts  the  hue  it  works  in.  I  '11  not  win  rest,  forgive 
ness,  sleep !  But,  by  God,  I  '11  keep  what  men  care  for.  I  '11 
•keep  strength  and  reputation,  name,  and  room  to  work  a 
lever  in !  Ay,  and  I  '11  not  endure  the  world  to  say,  'This  was 
his  friend,  and  that  his  lover;  look  how  they  are  stained!' 
OGod,  OGod!" 

She  put  her  arms  around  him.  "There  is  no  stain!  1  will 
forever  love  you.  Love  casts  off  soil  as  it  casts  out  fear.  Will 
you  not  come  with  me  —  and  tell  them  ?" 

He  sat  for  some  minutes,  still  in  her  clasp,  then,  leaning 
forward,  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and  kissed  her  on  the 
brow.  "No!"  he  said,  with  finality. 

Another  moment  and  he  arose.  "I  am  hungry.  I  have  not 
eaten  since  daybreak.  As  for  sleep  —  I  don't  know  when 
I  slept.  It  is  not  only  the  darkness  of  the  storm ;  it  is  growing 
late.  I  think  that  we  will  hear  nothing  to-night.  We  will 
sleep,  and  I  need  it."  He  moved  to  a  table  and  took  up 
the  pair  of  holsters  which,  on  entering,  he  had  laid  there 


HUSBAND  AND   WIFE  413 

Tn  a  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  heavy  chest  of  drawers.  He 
placed  the  holsters  in  one  of  these,  locked  the  drawer,  and 
withdrew  the  key.  "I'll  think  that  out,"  he  muttered,  "just 
as  soon  as  may  be,"  then  turned  again  to  his  wife.  "  I  '11  go 
now  and  get  some  meat  and  wine.  Stay  here  by  the  fire, 
Jacqueline,  and  try  to  see  that  all  this  must  be  fought,  and 
fought  as  I  have  said !  Think  of  yourself,  and  think  of  Deb, 
Unity,  your  uncles  —  at  last  you  will  come  to  see  that  there 
is  no  other  way." 

He  was  gone.  Jacqueline  dragged  herself  from  the  chair 
to  the  hearth,  sank  down  before  the  glowing  logs,  and  saw  at 
once  a  picture  of  the  river  road. 

She  had  been  lying  throughout  the  night  almost  without 
motion,  but  toward  three  o'clock  he  was  aware  that  she  had 
left  the  bed.  A  moment,  and  he  heard  the  tap  of  her  slippers 
across  the  polished  floor  of  the  chamber,  the  hall,  and  the 
dining-room.  She  paused,  he  could  tell,  at  the  sideboard; 
when,  presently,  she  slipped  again  into  bed,  she  was  trembling 
violently.  He  turned  and  put  his  arms  about  her.  "  I  am  so 
cold,"  she  said.  "  It  is  cold  indoors  and  out-of-doors." 

"  I  have  brought  you  misery,"  he  answered,  and  then  lay 
in  silence. 

They  heard  the  clock  ticking,  and  the  sighingof  the  branches 
after  the  storm.  For  awhile  she  was  quiet  within  his  clasp, 
then  the  shuddering  recommenced.  He  arose,  put  on  his 
dressing-gown,  and,  going  to  the  fireplace  where  the  logs  yet 
smouldered,  threw  on  light  wood  and  built  a  cheerful  fire, 
then  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to  the  great  chair 
of  flowered  chintz,  set  in  the  light  of  the  dancing  flames. 
"The  wine  will  warm  you.  Look,  too,  what  a  fire  I  have 
made!" 

She  still  shuddered,  staring  over  her  shoulder.    "Draw 


4H  LEWIS   RAND 

the  blinds  closer.  There's  a  sound  as  of  some  one  sigh- 
ing." 

"It  is  the  wind  in  the  beech  leaves." 

She  put  an  arm  across  her  eyes.  "How  long  is  he  to  lie 
there,  stretched  out  upon  the  wet  rocks,  beside  the  stream  ? 
Oh,  heartless!" 

"The  storm  and  darkness  have  made  it  long.  He  will  be 
found  this  morning." 

"  He  never  was  your  enemy,  Lewis.  You  thought  him  that, 
but  he  never  was,  he  never  was ! " 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "that  all  rage  is  dead.  I  feel 
as  though  I  had  left  anger  far  behind,  and  why  there  was  in 
my  mind  so  great  venom  and  rancour  I  no  longer  know. 
Envy  and  jealousy,  too,  are  gone.  They  have  been  struck 
out  of  life,  and  other  things  have  come  to  take  their  place." 

"Ay,"  she  cried,  "what  other  things!   O  God,  O  God!" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  while  the  wind  sighed  in  the 
beech  tree  and  the  fire  muttered  on  the  hearth.  Jacqueline 
sat  in  the  flowered  chair,  her  raised  arms  resting  upon  its 
back,  her  head  buried  in  her  arms.  Rand,  leaning  against  the 
mantel,  gazed  with  sombre  eyes  at  her  strained  and  motion 
less  form.  As  he  stood  there,  his  mind  began  to  move  through 
the  galleries  where  she  was  painted.  He  saw  her,  a  child, 
beneath  the  apple  tree,  and  in  her  blue  gown  that  day  in  the 
Fontenoy  garden,  and  then  again  beneath  the  apple  tree,  a 
child  no  longer,  but  the  woman  whom  he  loved.  He  saw  her 
face  above  him  the  afternoon  they  laid  him  in  the  blue  room, 
and  he  saw  her  singing  to  her  harp  in  the  Fontenoy  draw 
ing-room,  — 

"  The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise  —  " 

He  saw  the  next  morning  —  the  summer-house,  the  box,  the 
mockingbird  in  the  poplar  tree,  the  Seven  Sisters  rose  — 


HUSBAND  AND   WIFE  415 

and  then  their  marriage  eve,  and  that  fair  first  summer  on 
the  Three-Notched  Road,  and  all  the  three  years  of  their 
wedded  life.  The  picture  of  her  was  everywhere,  and  not 
least  in  the  house  on  Shockoe  Hill.  He  saw  her  as  she  had 
been  one  snowy  evening  in  February,  and  he  saw  her  as  she 
had  looked  the  hour  of  his  return  from  Williamsburgh  —  the 
pleading,  the  passion,  and  the  beauty.  And  now  —  now  - 

The  wind  sighed  again  without  the  windows,  and  Jacque 
line  drew  a  shuddering  breath.  He  spoke.  ''Jacqueline!" 

She  moved  slightly.    "Yes,  Lewis." 

"The  night  is  quiet,  after  the  storm.  He  lies  at  rest  beside 
the  stream.  This  morning  he  will  be  found,  lifted  tenderly, 
lamented,  mourned.  It  is  not  a  gruesome  place.  I  remember 
trees  and  fluttering  birds.  He  sleeps  —  he  sleeps  —  like 
Duncan  he  sleeps  well  at  last.  Is  he  to  be  so  pitied  ?" 

She  moaned,  "Yes  —  but  you  also,  you  also!  Oh,  break, 
break!" 

"Listen,  Jacqueline.  It  lacks  but  an  hour  of  dawn.  When 
it  is  day,  you  may  give  me  up.  Rouse  Joab  and  send  for  the 
sheriff  and  your  uncles  and  for  Fairfax  Gary.  I  will  dress 
and  await  them  in  the  library.  Indeed,  you  may  do  it  now 

—  there's  no  need  to  wait  for  dawn." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  went  the  length  of  the  room, 
resting  at  last,  with  raised  arms  and  covered  face,  against 
the  farthest  window.  He  spoke  on.  "If  all  thought  alike, 
Jacqueline,  if  all  saw  action  and  consequence  with  one  vision 

—  but  we  do  not  so,  no,  not  on  this  earth !   You  and  I  are 
sundered  there.    Perhaps  it  is  to  my  shame  that  it  is  so,  —  I 
cannot  tell.   What  you  asked  for  this  afternoon,  that  confes 
sion,  that  decision,  that  accord  with  justice  and  acceptance 
of  penalty,  I  cannot  give  freely  and  of  conviction,  Jacque 
line.    Why  did  you  think  I  had  that  exaltation  of  mind  ?    I 
have  it  not;  no,  nor  one  man  in  five  hundred  thousand !  The 


4i 6  LEWIS   RAND 

man  I  —  murdered  —  perhaps  possessed  it;  indeed,  I 
think  that  he  did.  But  I  —  I  do  not  own  it,  nor  can  I  see 
matters  with  another's  vision.  I  see  a  struggle  to  prevent 
disgrace  and  disaster,  to  retrieve  and  hold  an  endangered 
standing-room  —  a  struggle  determined  and  legitimate.  I 
am  capable  of  making  it.  But  though  I'll  avow  that  an 
other  man's  vision  transcends  mine,  I  '11  dispute  with  him  the 
power  of  loving!  I  love  you  with  a  passion  as  deep,  strong, 
and  abiding  as  if  I,  too,  walked  in  that  rarer  air.  I  am  of 
the  earth  and  rooted  in  the  earth,  but  I  love  you  utterly. 
If  you  want  this  thing,  I  will  give  it  to  you.  It  was  unmanly 
of  me  to  say  but  now,  'You  may  do  this,  you  may  do  that, 
and  I  will  not  lift  a  finger  to  prevent  you.'  I  will  not  leave  it 
to  you,  Jacqueline.  I  will  awaken  Joab  and  send  him  with 
a  note  to  your  uncles." 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  but  before  he  could  reach  it 
his  wife  was  before  him,  her  weight  thrown  against  him, 
her  raised  hands  thrusting  him  back  to  the  hearth.  She 
shook  her  head,  and  her  long  hair  shadowed  her;  she  strove 
for  utterance,  but  could  find  only  a  strangled  "No  —  no"; 
then,  still  clinging  to  him,  she  slipped  to  her  knees  and  so  to 
her  face,  and  lay  there  in  a  swoon  in  the  red  zone  of  the 
firelight. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    BROTHERS 

AT  Fontenoy  the  deluging  rain  and  pitchy  blackness  of 
the  night  sufficiently  warranted  Colonel  Dick's  as 
sertion  that  it  was  an  evening  for  a  sensible  man  to 
stay  where  he  was,  and  that  a  bowl  of  punch  and  wedding- 
talk  and  Unity  at  the  harpsichord  were  to  be  preferred  to  a 
progress  to  Greenwood  through  such  a  downpour  and  a  foot 
of  mud.  Ludwell!  —  Ludwell  wouldn't  be  there  anyway. 
He  was  a  man  of  sense  and  would  be  sleeping  at  Red  Fields, 
if  indeed  he  had  ever  left  Malplaquet.  Fairfax  Cary  was 
persuaded,  and  after  a  very  happy  evening  in  the  drawing- 
room,  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep  in  the  blue  room. 

Dressing,  next  morning,  he  gazed  around  him.  The  room 
was  familiar  to  him,  and  he  had  a  liking  for  it,  from  the 
mandarin  on  the  screen  to  General  Washington  on  the  wall. 
The  storm  had  passed  away  early  in  the  night,  and  it  was 
now  a  lovely  morning,  clear-washed,  fresh,  and  fragrant. 
He  looked  out  of  the  window  toward  the  blue  hills,  and 
down  into  the  garden  where  autumn  flowers  were  in  bloom, 
and  as  he  dressed  he  hummed  an  air  that  Unity  had  sung. 

"  Give  me  pleasure,  give  me  pain, 
Give  me  wine  of  life  again  ! 
Death  is  night  without  a  morn, 
Give  the  rose  and  give  the  thorn." 

Downstairs  he  found  Miss  Dandridge  and  Major  Edward 
upon  the  wide  porch.  The  wind  had  torn  away  a  great 
bough  from  one  of  the  poplars,  and  Colonel  Dick  and  Deb 
upon  the  drive  below  were  superintending  its  removal.  Birds 


41 8  LEWIS   RAND 

were  singing,  delicate  airs  astir.  "It's  going  to  be  the  di- 
vinest  day ! "  said  Unity,  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room. 
Breakfast  went  happily  on  with  talk  of  politics,  county 
affairs,  and  now  and  then  from  Colonel  Dick  a  sly  allusion 
to  the  approaching  marriage.  The  meal  was  nearly  over 
when  old  Cato,  coming  in  from  the  hall,  said  something  in 
a  low  voice  to  his  master.  Colonel  Churchill  pushed  back 
his  chair.  "Excuse  me  a  moment,  Unity,  my  dear.  There's 


a  man  wants  to  see  me." 


He  left  the  room.  Fairfax  Cary  and  Major  Edward  con 
tinued  a  discussion  of  the  latest  Napoleonic  victory;  Unity 
played  with  her  spoon  and  thought  of  her  wedding-gown; 
Deb  drank  her  glass  of  milk  and  planned  a  visit  with  Miranda 
to  a  blasted  pine  tree,  lived  in,  all  the  quarter  agreed,  by 
a  ha'nt  that  came  out  at  night,  like  a  ring  of  smoke  out  of 
a  great  black  pipe ! 

Colonel  Dick's  figure  appeared  for  an  instant  in  the  door 
way.  "Edward,  come  here  a  moment,  will  you?" 

"A  thousand  hussars,  and  the  thing  went  off  like  flaming 
tinder,"  finished  Major  Edward.  He  laid  down  his  napkin 
and  arose.  "  Excuse  me,  Unity.  Very  well,  Dick,"  and  left 
the  room. 

"Unity,"  enquired  Deb.    "Are  there  any  ha'nts?" 

"No,  honey,  no!1' 

"Just  make  believe?" 

"Just  make  believe." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Deb,  and  fell  to  wondering  if  the  ha'nt 
would  come  out  if  only  she  and  Miranda  sat  long  enough 
before  the  tree.  It  might  get  hungry. 

"Will  you  have  another  cup  ?"  asked  Unity  of  the  guest, 
her  hand  upon  the  coffee-urn.  "No?  Then  let  us  go  and 
see  what  is  the  matter.  They  are  not  coming  back." 

"I  want,"  whispered  Fairfax  Cary,  as  they  left  the  table, 


THE   BROTHERS  419 

"to  talk  to  you  about  —  about  two  weeks  from  now.  Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  sweet  and  shady  this  morning,  under 
the  catalpa  tree  ?" 

He  managed  to  touch  her  hand,  and  she  turned  her  vel 
vety  eyes  upon  him  with  both  laughter  and  moisture  in 
their  black  depths.  "I've  chosen  the  place  for  Unity  Dan- 
dridge's  grave.  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  It 's  underneath 
the  flowering  almond/' 

Fairfax  Gary  glanced  behind  him.  The  servants  were  out 
of  the  room;  Deb  was  gathering  crumbs  for  the  birds.  "Give 
me  one  kiss!  If  you  knew  how  much  I  love  you!  The  world's 
tuned  to-day  just  to  that." 

"Such  an  old  tune!  The  world  has  other  things  to  think 
of  and  other  airs  than  that!  " 

They  went  out  into  the  hall.  It  was  empty,  but  through  the 
open  doors  voices  sounded  from  the  porch  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  Another  moment  and  Major  Edward  appeared,  stood 
still  at  the  sight  of  Gary,  then  came  en  up  the  hall  to  meet 
the  two.  He  looked  intensely  grey  and  meagre,  and  his  thin 
lips  twitched.  "  Fairfax,"  he  said, — "Fairfax,  look  here  —  " 

The  other,  who  had  been  laughing,  grew  suddenly  grave. 
"  I  have  never  heard  you,  sir,  use  a  voice  like  that.  Has 
anything  happened  ?" 

Major  Edward  made  a  little  noise  in  his  throat,  then 
stiffened  himself  as  if  on  parade.  "There  may  have  been  an 
accident.  It  looks  that  way,  Fair.  It  was  Eli  who  came." 

"Eli!  What  has  happened  at  Greenwood?  LudwelPs 
home  ?'" 

"Unity,  my  dear,"  said  the  Major,  "let  him  come  with 
me.  Let's  go  into  the  library,  Fair." 

But  Fairfax  Gary  was  halfway  down  the  hall.  The  Major 
hastened  after  him,  and  at  the  porch  door  laid  a  thin  old 
hand  upon  the  other's  arm.  "Fair,  my  boy,  you  are  going 


420  LEWIS   RAND 

to  need  all  a  man's  courage.  Think  of  Dick  and  me  as  of 
Fauquier  Gary's  —  as  of  your  father's  —  old,  old  friends. 
Come,  now." 

They  found  on  the  square  porch  at  the  back  of  the  house. 
Colonel  Churchill,  the  negro  Eli,  and  a  white  man,  roughly 
dressed.  The  first,  seated  on  the  steps,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  face  in  his  hands,  looked  up  with  a  gasp. 
"Fair,  Fair—" 

Gary  spoke  with  steadiness.  "What  has  brought  you  here, 
EH  ?  Mr.  Ludwell  came  home  last  night?" 

Eli,  trembling  violently,  and  of  the  ashen  hue  that  a 
negro  takes  in  terror,  tried  to  answer,  but  at  first  there  came 
only  jabbered  and  meaningless  words.  He  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  finally  became  coherent.  "  Marse  Fair  —  Marse  Fair  - 
ain'  I  done  HP  you  bofe  in  dese  ahms  w'en  you  wuz  jes' 
little  fellers  —  he  er  lot  de  oldes'  an'  you  nuttin'  but  er  baby, 
toddlin'  after  him  eberywhar  he  went!  Ain'  I  done  ride  be- 
hin'  you  bofe  dese  yeahs  an'  yeahs  ?  Oh,  Gawd-a-moughty ! 
O  Lawd,  hab  mercy  — " 

Gary  took  him  by  the  shoulder.  "Eli,  stop  that  crying  out 
and  tell  me  at  once  what  is  the  matter!  What  has  happened 
to  Mr.  Ludwell?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Fair,"  answered  the  Major,  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "The  negro  can't  do  it.  Ludwell  did  not  come  home 
last  night,  and  this  morning  James  Wilson,  here,  found 
Saladin— " 

"Far  up  the  river  road,  near  my  house,"  said  the  man 
upon  the  steps.  "'Twas  just  about  daybreak.  I  didn't 
know,  sir,  whose  horse  he  was,  so  I  put  him  in  my  stable. 
Then  my  son  and  me  and  Joe  White,  a  neighbour  of  mine, 
we  set  out  down  the  river  road." 

"Oh,  my  young  marster!  Oh,  my  young  marster!" 
wailed  Eli.  "  De  kindes' an' de  bes' !  Oh,  Lawd  hab  mercy !" 


THE  BROTHERS  421 

"It  was  just  dawn,  sir,  and  we  went  down  the  road  — 
we  were  on  horseback  —  quite  a  good  bit  of  miles.  There 
was  n't  any  sign  until  we  came  to  where  Indian  Run  crosses 
the  road;  but  on  the  further  side,  where  there's  a  strip  of 
rocks,  you  know,  sir — " 

The  speaker  stopped  short.  "They  found  him  there, 
Fair,"  finished  Major  Edward. 

The  young  man  turned  squarely  to  the  old.  "Thank  you, 
sir.  You  are  the  man  for  me.  Was  he  —  is  he  badly  hurt  ? " 

"There's  nothing  can  ever  hurt  him  more,  my  dear.  It 
is  you,  and  we  with  you,  who  must  suffer  now.  They  found 
him  —  they  found  him  dead,  Fair." 

There  was  a  silence;  then,  "Ludwell  —  Ludwell  dead  ?" 
said  Gary.  "  I  don't  believe  you,  Major  Churchill." 

He  turned,  walked  to  a  bench  that  ran  along  the  wall, 
and  sat  down.  "Eli,  get  up  from  there  and  stop  that  camp- 
meeting  wailing!  Mr.  Wilson,  you  perhaps  do  not  yet  know 
my  brother's  horse  —  black  with  a  white  star.  Colonel  Dick, 
they  've  got  hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  some  damned  rigma 
role  or  other  — " 

"I  did  n't  know  the  horse,  sir,"  replied  Wilson,  not  with 
out  gentleness,  "for  I've  been  out  of  the  county  for  a  long 
time,  and  your  brother  used  to  ride  a  bay.  But  I  knew  your 
brother,  sir." 

"That's  what  I  said,  too,  Fair,"  groaned  Colonel  Churchill 
from  the  steps.  "I  said  it  was  all  a  damned  mistake.  But 
I  was  wrong.  You  listen  to  Edward.  Edward,  tell  him 
all!" 

"Yes,  Dick.  It  is  true,  Fair,  damnably,  devilishly  true. 
He  had  been  dead  for  hours,  Fair." 

l<  Joe  White's  something  of  a  doctor,  sir,"  put  in  Wilson. 
"  Joe  said  he  would  have  been  lying  there  since  before  the 


storm." 


422  LEWIS   RAND 

Fairfax  Gary  drew  a  gasping  breath.  "Lying  there, 
suffering,  through  the  storm  and  darkness  ?  Thrown  ?  Ill 
and  fallen  from  his  horse  ?  Major  Edward,  don't  play  with 
me!"  He  started  up.  "Where  is  he  now?" 

"We  left  him  there,  sir,  just  as  he  was,  with  Joe  White  to 
guard  him.  My  son,  he  undertook  to  rouse  the  nearest  people. 
I  happened  to  know,  sir,  that  the  sheriff  was  staying  over 
night  near  Red  Fields,  and  I  sent  him  there  first.  I  told 
the  coroner  myself,  and  then  I  came  as  hard  as  I  could 
ride  to  Greenwood,  where  I  heard  that  you  were  here  — " 

"  It  was  thought  best  not  to  move  him  at  once,  Fair.  They 
are  intelligent  men,  and  they  were  right."  The  Major's 
hand  closed  around  the  other's  wrist.  "He  did  not  suffer, 
Fair.  He  was  not  thrown.  He  was  shot  —  shot  through  the 
heart!" 

"And  there,  by  God,"  came  from  the  steps  Colonel  Dick's 
deep  voice,  "there,  at  least,  there's  something  to  be  done! 
But  oh,  my  poor  boy,  my  poor  boy!" 

Unity  came  from  the  doorway,  took  her  lover's  hands,  and 
pressed  them  to  her  lips.  "Fair,"  she  whispered,  "Fair!" 

He  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  "There,  dear!  We  won't 
sit  under  the  catalpa  tree  this  morning.  Eli !  get  the  horses." 

"They  have  been  ordered,  Fair,"  said  the  Colonel.  "We'll 
go  together,  you  and  Edward  and  I." 

The  little  rocky  strand  above  the  stream  upon  the  river 
road  lay  half  in  sun  and  half  in  shade.  After  the  storm  the 
air  was  crystal.  Birds  sang  in  the  forest  trees,  and  the 
stream  laughed  as  it  slid  over  ledges  into  deep  pools.  The 
sky  was  blue,  the  day  brilliant,  a  cool  wind  rustled  through 
the  laurels,  and  the  wet  earth  sent  out  odours  of  mould 
and  trodden  leaf.  Perhaps  a  score  of  men  and  boys,  engaged 
in  excited  talk  and  in  as  close  a  scrutiny  of  one  quiet  figure 
as  a  line  which  the  sheriff  had  drawn  would  permit,  turned 


THE  BROTHERS  423 

at  the  sound  of  rapid  hoofs  and  watched  the  Churchills 
and  Fairfax  Gary,  with  Wilson  and  Eli,  come  down  to  the 
stream. 

"Back,  all  of  you,  men!"  ordered  the  sheriff,  in  a  low 
voice.  "That  is  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary";  then  turned  to  a  spec 
tator  or  two  of  importance :  "  Mr.  Morris,  Mr.  Page  —  I  hope 
you  '11  be  so  good  as  to  meet  them  with  me  ?  This  is  a  dread 
ful  thing!" 

The  Fontenoy  party  splashed  through  Indian  Run  and 
dismounted.  It  was  not  an  ungentle  people,  and  the  little 
strand,  from  the  woods  to  the  water,  was  now  free  from  in 
truding  figures.  Only  the  sheriff,  the  coroner,  and  the  two 
planters,  old  friends  and  neighbours,  remained,  and  these 
joined  the  Churchills.  Fairfax  Gary  walked  alone  to  his 
brother's  side  and  stood,  looking  down. 

Ludwell  Gary  lay  peacefully.  One  arm  was  outstretched, 
the  head  a  little  back,  the  face  quiet,  with  nothing  in  it  of 
wrath  or  fear  or  pain.  The  storm  had  not  hurt  him.  There 
was  little  disarray.  It  was  much  as  though  he  had  thrown 
himself  down  there,  beside  the  water,  with  a  sigh  for  the 
pleasure  of  rest.  The  younger  Gary  waited  motionless  for 
the  blood  to  come  back  to  his  heart  and  the  mist  before  his 
eyes  to  clear.  It  cleared;  he  saw  plainly  his  brother,  guide, 
and  friend,  and  with  a  cry  he  flung  himself  down  and  across 
the  body. 

The  men  at  the  water's  edge  turned  away  their  faces.  The 
rudest  unit  of  the  small  throng  beneath  the  trees  put  up 
a  sudden  hand  and  removed  his  cap,  and  his  example  was 
followed.  It  had  been  a  known  thing,  the  comradeship  of 
these  brothers,  and  there  were  few  in  the  county  more  loved 
than  the  Carys. 

Moments  passed.  The  sheriff  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  Mr. 
Morris,  whereupon  the  latter  whispered  to  Colonel  Church- 


424  LEWIS   RAND 

ill.  "  Edward,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  time 's  being  lost.  Had  n't 
you  better  try  to  get  him  away  ? " 

Major  Edward  moved  along  the  bank  to  the  two  forms  and 
stood  in  silence,  gazing  with  twitching  lips  at  the  dead  man's 
countenance,  so  impassive,  cold,  remote,  alien  now  from  all 
interests  of  this  flesh,  quite  indifferent  to  love  or  to  hate, 
supremely  careless  as  to  whether  his  story  were  ever  told. 
The  Major  put  his  hand  to  his  fierce  old  eagle  eyes,  and  took 
it  away  wet  with  tears,  slow,  acrid,  and  difficult.  He  stooped 
and  touched  the  living  man.  "Fair,  —  come,  Fair!" 

The  other  moved  slightly,  but  did  not  offer  to  rise.  Major 
Edward  waited,  then  touched  him  again.  "Fair,  we  want 
to  mark  closely  how  he  lies,  and  then  we  want  to  take  him 
to  Greenwood.  He  has  been  here  long,  you  know." 

His  words  elicited  only  a  low  groan,  but  presently  Gary 
lifted  himself  from  the  body,  remained  for  a  moment  upon 
his  knees,  then  rose  to  his  feet.  "Yes,  to  Greenwood,"  he 
said.  "He  lay  here  last  night  in  the  wind  and  rain,  and  I 
was  warm  and  happy  —  I  was  asleep  and  dreaming!  Why 
did  I  leave  him  at  Elm  Tree  ?  If  I  had  been  with  him  — ' 

His  face  changed,  startlingly.  He  stooped  with  rapidity, 
looked  at  and  touched  the  dark  stain  upon  the  coat,  straight 
ened  himself,  and  turned  violently  upon  the  Major  and  the 
little  group  which  had  now  approached.  "Who?"  he  de 
manded  in  a  voice  that  rose  to  a  hoarse  cry.  "Who  ?" 

Colonel  Churchill  answered  him.  "We  don't  know,  Fair, 
but  by  the  living  God,  we'll  find  out!"  and  the  sheriff, 
"We've  no  clue  yet,  sir,  but  if  'twas  plain  murder  — and 
it  looks  that  way,  for  your  brother  was  n't  armed  —  then  I 
reckon  the  man  who  did  it  will  as  soon  find  his  ease  in  hell 
as  in  old  Virginia!" 

The  farmer  who  had  been  first  upon  the  ground  spoke  from 
the  edge  of  the  group.  "  I  never  heard  a  soul  in  this  county 


THE   BROTHERS  425 

say  a  hard  word  of  Mr.  Gary.  I  should  n't  ha'  thought,  bar 
ring  politics,  that  he  had  an  enemy." 

"Ha!"  said  Major  Edward,  but  not  loudly. 

The  sheriff  spoke  again.  "Mr.  Fairfax  Gary,  we've  got 
a  kind  of  litter  here,  made  of  branches,  and  we'd  best  be 
going  on.  The  sooner  the  law  has  its  hand  on  this,  the 
better.  Shall  we  lift  him  now,  sir  ?" 

All  were  by  this  time  gathered  about  the  form  on  the  earth, 
and  the  throng  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  had  also  come  nearer. 
Fairfax  Gary,  who  had  looked  at  each  speaker  in  turn,  now 
again  bent  his  eyes  upon  his  brother.  That  still  figure,  so 
fixed,  so  uncaring  in  the  midst  of  harsh  emotion,  had  appar 
ently  no  accusation  to  make,  was  there  only  to  state  the  all- 
inclusive  fact,  "  I  am  in  death,  who,  yesterday,  could  move 
and  speak,  could  feel  joy  and  grief,  like  you  and  these." 

The  little  knot  of  men,  who  had  been  gazing  at  the  dead 
as  at  the  chief  actor  in  a  drama,  began  to  look,  instead,  at 
Fairfax  Gary,  and  to  look  the  more  steadily  for  their  first 
glance.  They  saw  a  curious  thing;  they  witnessed  a  trans 
formation.  Had  he,  like  Proteus,  slipped  before  their  eyes  into 
another  shape,  the  vital  change  had  hardly  been  more  marked. 
He  had  been,  even  this  morning,  a  young  man,  handsome  and 
gallant,  with  a  bright  eye,  a  most  happy  manner,  a  charm  and 
spirit  wholly  admirable.  All  Albemarle  knew  and  liked  him 
under  that  aspect.  The  men  about  him  had  seen  grief  and 
horror  and  rage,  each  exhibited  strongly  out  of  a  strong  nature. 
They  now  saw,  from  out  of  youth  and  the  war  of  emotions, 
the  man  emerge.  He  came  slowly  but  steadfastly,  a  man 
with  a  set  purpose,  which  he  was  like  to  pursue  through  life. 
The  growth  of  years  took  place  almost  at  once,  though 
not  the  growth  that  would  have  been  but  for  this  releasing 
stroke.  Latencies  in  the  backward  and  abysm  of  inheritance 
that  would  not  have  stirred  under  a  less  tremendous  stimu- 


426  LEWIS   RAND 

lus  stirred  under  this,  grew,  and  pushed  aside  the  gay  and 
even  life  that  might  have  been.  The  growth  was  rapid  and 
visible,  as  visible  the  sharp  turn  from  every  former  shining 
goal  to  one  which,  an  hour  before,  the  runner  had  not  seen. 
The  men  who  watched  him  somewhat  held  their  breath. 

The  change  that  was  wrought  was  profound.  The  man 
who  was  stretched  upon  the  earth  looked  now  the  younger 
of  the  two.  He  seemed  also  to  have  given  something  of 
the  calmness  of  his  state,  for  Fairfax  Gary  no  longer  grieved 
with  voice  or  gesture  or  convulsion  of  feature.  He  was  quiet, 
pale,  and  resolute,  and  he  now*  spoke  to  the  sheriff  evenly 
enough.  "Yes,  Mr.  Garrett,  we '11  take  him  home.  Where 
is  the  litter  ? " 

Four  men  brought  it  forward.  Ludwell  Gary  was  lifted 
by  his  brother  and  Colonel  Churchill  and  laid  reverently 
upon  the  stretcher  of  branches  where  the  green  leaves  nodded 
above  his  quiet  face.  The  little  procession  formed  and,  with 
the  younger  Gary  walking  beside  the  litter,  crossed  the  shal 
low  ford  and  moved  slowly  up  the  winding  river  road. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

GREENWOOD 

THE  murder,  by  an  unknown  hand,  of  Ludwell  Gary, 
shot  through  the  heart,  beside  Indian  Run,  as  he 
rode  from  Malplaquet  to  Greenwood,  became  the 
overwhelming  topic  of  interest  in  Albemarle,  and  a  chief 
subject  far  and  wide  throughout  the  great  state.  His  kinsmen 
and  connections  were  numerous,  and  he  had  himself  been 
a  man  widely  known,  by  many  greatly  liked,  and  by  a  few 
well  loved.  There  arose  from  town  and  country  a  cry  of  grief 
and  wrath,  a  great  wave  of  sympathy  for  the  one  man  left  of 
all  the  Greenwood  Carys,  solitary  now  in  the  old  brick  house 
behind  the  line  of  oaks,  and  a  loud  demand  for  the  speedy  dis 
covery  and  apprehension  of  the  murderer.  Indignation  was 
high,  the  Court  House  and  the  Court  House  yard  crowded  on 
the  morning  of  the  inquest,  the  verdict  brought  in  by  the  cor 
oner's  jury  received  by  the  county  at  large  with  incredulous 
disappointment.  Death  at  the  hands  of  a  person  unknown. 
No  evidence  was  produced  in  the  court  room  which  threw 
any  clear  light  upon  the  commission  of  the  deed,  its  motive, 
of  its  perpetrator.  There  were  ample  accounts  of  the  cap 
ture  of  the  horse,  the  finding  of  the  body,  its  position,  and  the 
nature  of  the  wound,  —  medical  opinion  in  addition  that 
death  had  been  instantaneous,  and  probably  received  before 
the  breaking  of  the  storm.  If  there  had  been  any  telltale 
track  or  mark  in  the  soil  of  the  river  road,  the  continued  and 
beating  rain  had  made  the  way  impossible  to  read.  Witnesses 
from  Malplaquet  told  of  Ludwell  Gary's  setting  forth  that 
morning,  and  Forrest,  the  blacksmith,  vouched  for  his  pass- 


428  LEWIS   RAND 

ing  the  forge,  alone.  Men  from  the  mill  at  the  ford  swore  to 
his  pausing  to  answer  their  questions  as  to  the  trial  of  Aaron 
Burr,  and  to  his  riding  on  —  by  the  main  road.  Here  arose 
the  confusion.  They  were  certain  that  Mr.  Gary  had  taken 
the  main  road.  They  thought  so  then,  and  they  did  not  see 
yet  how  they  were  mistaken.  They  told  the  next  man  who 
came  riding  by  that  he  had  taken  that  road  —  the  main  road. 
It  was  not  the  next  man,  —  boatmen  and  others  had  passed 
going  up  country, —  but  when  Mr.  Rand  came  up,  they  told 
him  that  Mr.  Gary  was  on  the  road  before  him  —  the  main 
road.  Yes,  sir,  it  was  Mr.  Rand  and  his  negro  boy,  and  he 
could  speak  for  it  that  Mr.  Gary  was  supposed  to  be  riding  to 
Greenwood  by  the  usual  road  —  the  main  road.  The  river 
road  was  after  all  very  little  shorter,  and  everybody  knew  that 
it  was  mortal  bad. 

Lewis  Rand  was  called.  He  testified  that  he  had  left  Rich 
mond  upon  the  third,  having  with  him  a  negro  boy  known 
as  Young  Isham.  The  night  of  the  sixth  he  had  slept  at  the 
Cross  Roads  Tavern  and  gone  on  the  next  morning,  passing 
Malplaquet  about  nine.  His  horse  loosening  a  shoe,  he 
stopped  at  Forrest's  forge,  and  there  learned  from  the  smith 
that  there  was  considerable  travel,  and  that  Mr.  Gary  of 
Greenwood  had  passed  some  time  before.  "You  remem 
ber,  Forrest  ?  I  asked  you  if  Mr.  Gary  had  mentioned  which 
road  he  would  take  at  the  ford,  and  you  answered  that  he 
had  not,  but  that  you  supposed  the  main  road  —  the  other 
had  been  very  bad  all  summer.  Again,  at  the  mill  below  the 
ford  where  I  paused  to  ask  for  water,  the  miller,  remarking 
on  the  travel  home  from  Richmond,  informed  me  that  Mr. 
Gary  had  passed  not  long  before.  I  asked  him  which  road 
Mr.  Gary  had  taken,  the  main  road  or  the  river  road.  He 
answered  —  or  the  men  behind  him  answered,  I  cannot  now 
remember  which  —  'The  main  road.5 ' 


GREENWOOD  429 

"Ay,  that's  what  we  said,  and  what  we  thought,"  inter 
jected  the  miller. 

"It  was  thus  my  impression,  gained  first  at  the  forge," 
continued  the  witness,  "that  Mr.  Gary  was  before  me  upon 
the  main  road.  Until  then,  knowing  him  to  have  left  Rich 
mond  several  days  before  me,  I  had  supposed  him  at  Green- 
wood.  I  was  not  averse  to  a  word  with  him  on  certain  mat 
ters,  and  I  rode  rapidly,  hoping  to  overtake  him  - 

"Upon  the  main  road,  sir?" 

"The  main  road,  of  course.  As  I  did  not  do  so,  I  con 
cluded  that  the  approaching  storm  had  caused  him  to  hasten. 
It  was  very  threatening,  and  the  few  that  my  boy  and  I 
passed  were  hurrying  to  shelter.  At  Red  Fields  I  paused  for 
a  moment"  He  looked  toward  a  well-known  planter, 
standing  near.  "Certainly,  Mr.  Rand,"  said  the  latter 
promptly.  "We  tried  to  make  you  stay  out  the  storm,  but 
you  would  be  getting  home." 

"From  Red  Fields  my  boy  and  I  rode  on  into  town.  I 
stopped  at  my  partner's  house  to  tell  his  sister  when  to  ex 
pect  him  home  from  Richmond,  and  at  the  Eagle  I  drew 
rein  for  a  moment  and  exchanged  greetings  with  two  or  three 
gentlemen  upon  the  porch.  The  rain  was  close  at  hand,  and 
my  boy  and  I  pushed  on  to  Roselands  — where,  next  morning, 
a  neighbour  brought  the  news  of  this  murder.  I  corroborate, 
sir,  as  I  have  been  called  to  do,  the  statements  of  Mr.  For 
rest  and  Mr.  Bates  that  it  was  the  impression  of  all  who 
greeted  him  as  he  passed  that  Mr.  Gary  was  riding  home  by 
the  usual  road  —  the  main  road.  I  have  nothing  further  to 
offer,  sir." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Rand,"  said  the  coroner,  and  the  wit 
ness  left  the  stand. 

He  was  followed  by  the  keeper  of  a  small  ordinary  upon  the 
main  road,  halfway  between  the  ford  and  Red  Fields.  "No, 


430  LEWIS   RAND 

sir,  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  did  n't  travel  by  the  main  road.  I  sat 
in  my  door  with  my  glass  and  my  pipe  almost  the  whole 
day  —  until  after  the  storm  broke,  anyhow.  There  was  n't 
any  custom  —  folk  seemed  to  know  it  was  going  to  rain  like 
Noah's  flood.  There  was  hardly  anybody  on  the  road  after 
about  ten.  Yes,  I  might  have  shut  my  eyes  now  and  then, 
though  I  don't  doze  over  my  pipe  and  glass  half  as  much  as 
some  people  say  I  do.  Anyhow,  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary  did  n't 
ride  that  way  —  events  prove  that,  don't  they,  sir  ?  Yes,  I 
remember  well  enough  when  Mr.  Rand  passed.  I  was  n't 
dozing  then,  for  the  negro  boy  spoke  to  me,  said  there 
was  going  to  be  a  big  storm.  It  must  have  been  after  mid 
day,  Mr.  Rand?" 

"Yes,  something  after  midday." 

The  witness  knew,  for  he  always  had  his  glass  at  noon. 
He  might  have  been  dozing  when  the  negro  spoke  to  him, 
but  he  spoke  plain  enough.  "It's  going  to  be  an  awful 
storm/  he  said,  and  then  I  believe  you  said  something,  sir, 
though  I  don't  remember  what  it  was,  and  you  both  rode 
on.  I  was  n't  that  sleepy  that  I  could  n't  see  straight. 
That's  all  that  I  know,  Mr.  Gait." 

Two  or  three  other  witnesses  were  called,  but  they  were 
of  the  main  road,  and  the  main  road  had  nothing  to  show 
further  than  that  it  had  been  travelled  upon  by  Lewis  Rand 
and  his  negro  boy.  They  had  not  seen  Mr.  Ludwell  Gary 
since  he  rode  to  Richmond  early  in  the  summer.  Yes,  they 
were  sure  they  had  seen  Mr.  Rand  and  his  negro  boy  —  but 
the  clouds  were  dark,  and  the  dust  blowing  so  that  you  had 
to  hold  your  head  down,  and  people  were  thinking  of  getting 
indoors.  The  boy  was  riding  a  mare  with  a  white  foot. 

"I  think  we  can  leave  the  main  road,  gentlemen,"  de 
clared  the  coroner.  "Now  the  river  road  and  the  stream 
where  this  thing  was  done  — " 


GREENWOOD  431 

Indian  Run  —  where  did  Indian  Run  come  from  or  lead 
to,  and  who  might  have  been  upon  that  lonely  road,  or  lurk 
ing  in  the  laurel  and  hemlock  that  clothed  the  banks  of  the 
stream  ?  Three  miles  up  the  water  was  a  camping-ground 
used  by  gypsies;  at  a  greater  distance  down  the  stream  a 
straggling  settlement  of  poor  whites,  long  looked  at  askance 
by  the  county.  It  might  be  that  some  wandering  gypsy, 
some  Ishmaelite  with  a  grudge  —  The  enquiry  turned  again 
to  Fairfax  Gary. 

"When  you  went  on,  Mr.  Gary,  from  Elm  Tree,  you  too 
supposed  that  your  brother  would  follow  by  the  same  road  ? 
You  thought  - 

"I  did  not  think  at  all,"  answered  Gary  harshly.  "I  was 
lost  in  my  own  self  and  my  own  concerns.  I  was  a  selfish 
and  heedless  wretch,  and  I  hurried  away  without  a  thought 
or  care.  What  he  told  me  I  forgot  at  the  time.  But  I  have 
remembered  it  since.  He  told  me  that  he  would  take  the  river 
road." 

"And  on  your  own  way  home  you  repeated  that  to  no 
one?" 

"To  no  one.  I  never  spoke  of  him,  I  do  not  know  that  I 
ever  thought  of  him  from  Elm  Tree  to  Greenwood.  Oh,  my 
brother!" 

A  sigh  like  the  wind  over  corn  went  through  the  room. 
The  coroner  bent  forward.  "Mr.  Gary,  can  you  think  of 
any  one  who  bore  him  ill-will  —  a  runaway  negro,  perhaps, 
or  some  vagrant  who  might  have  been  along  that  stream  ? " 

"No.  His  slaves  loved  him.  We  had  no  runaways.  I  do 
not  believe  there  is  a  man  on  Indian  Run  who  would  have 
touched  him." 

"Mr.  Gary,  had  he  any  enemy?" 

"He  had  one.  He  sits  yonder.  You  have  heard  his  testi 
mony." 


432  LEWIS   RAND 

The  court  room  murmured  again.  The  old  rivalry  be 
tween  Lewis  Rand  and  Ludwell  Gary,  the  antagonism  of 
years,  and  the  fact  of  a  duel  were  sufficiently  in  men's  minds 
—  but  what  of  it  all  ?  The  duel  was  a  year  gone  by;  politi 
cal  animosities  in  Virginia  might  be,  and  often  were,  bitter 
enough,  but  they  led  no  further  than  to  such  a  meeting. 
The  coroner  looked  disturbed.  The  murmur  was  followed 
by  a  curious  hush ;  but  if  for  an  instant  an  idea  was  poised 
in  the  air  of  the  court  room,  it  did  not  descend,  it  was  banished 
as  preposterous.  The  moment's  silence  was  broken  by  Lewis 
Rand.  From  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  room  he  spoke  with 
a  grave  simplicity  and  straightforwardness,  characteristic  and 
impressive,  familiar  to  most  there  who  had  heard  him  be 
fore  now,  in  this  court  room,  on  questions  of  life  and  death. 
"Everything  is  to  be  pardoned  to  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary's  most 
natural  grief.  My  testimony,  sir,  is  as  I  gave  it." 

The  coroner's  voice  broke  in  upon  a  deep  murmur  of  as 
sent.  "I  presume,  Mr.  Gary,  that  you  bring  no  accusation 
against  Mr.  Rand  ?" 

Fairfax  Gary  looked  from  under  the  hand  with  which,  as 
he  sat,  he  shaded  his  brow.  "I  have,  here  and  now,  no  suf 
ficient  proof  whereon  to  base  accusation  of  any  man.  I  will 
only  say  that  I  shall  seek  such  proof." 

A  little  longer,  and  the  proceedings  were  over.  The  crowd 
dispersed,  unsatisfied,  hungry  for  further  details  and  haz 
ardous  of  solutions.  The  better  class  went  home,  but  others 
hung  long  about  the  Court  House  yard,  reading  the  notices 
pasted  upon  the  Court  House  doors,  the  "WHEREAS  upon 
the  seventh  day  of  September  and  on  the  river  road  where 
it  is  crossed  by  Indian  Run"  —  commenting  upon  the  re 
wards  offered,  relating  this  or  that  story  of  the  Greenwood 
Carys,  and  recalling  every  murder  in  Albemarle  since  the 
Revolution.  "Dole  was  shot  down  like  that,  three  years 


GREENWOOD  433 

ago,  in  North  Garden  —  but  then,  Fitch  was  suspected  from 
the  first.  Fitch  had  been  heard  to  swear  he'd  do  it,  and  they 
knew,  too,  it  was  his  gun,  and  a  child  had  seen  him  come 
and  go.  Lewis  Rand  was  for  the  State.  Don't  you  remem 
ber  the  speech  he  made?  No;  Tom  Mocket  made  it,  but 
Mr.  Rand  wrote  it!  Either  way  it  hung  Fitch.  Curious, 
was  n't  it,  that  passage  between  Mr.  Rand  and  Fairfax 
Gary?  D'ye  suppose  he  thought  —  d'ye  suppose  Fairfax 
Gary  thought  — 

"It  is  n't  what  a  man  thinks,"  stated  a  surly  farmer.  "It's 
what  a  man  can  prove." 

"Well,  he  could  n't  prove  that  if  he  tried  till  doomsday!" 
cried  another.  "That's  not  Lewis  Rand's  trade!" 

"You're  right  there,  Jim,"  assented  the  group.  "WHEREAS 
upon  the  seventh  day  of  September  and  on  the  river  road 
where  it  is  crossed  by  Indian  Run  - 

Upon  a  September  afternoon,  clear  and  fair,  full  of  the 
ripeness  and  strength  of  the  year,  the  body  of  Ludwell  Gary 
was  given  back  to  the  earth.  There  was  a  service  at  Saint 
Anne's,  after  which,  carried  by  faithful  slaves  and  followed 
by  high  and  low  of  the  county,  he  was  borne  to  the  Gary 
burial-ground  at  Greenwood.  It  crowned  a  low  hill  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  oaks  about  the  house  —  a  place 
of  peace  and  quietness,  with  bird-haunted  trees  and  a  tangle 
of  old  flowers.  Ludwell  Gary  wras  laid  beside  Fauquier 
Gary,  the  "Dust  to  dust"  was  spoken,  and  the  grave  filled 
in.  All  mourned  who  heard  the  falling  earth,  and  the  ne 
groes  wailed  aloud,  but  Fairfax  Gary  stood  like  a  rock.  It 
was  over.  The  throng  melted  away,  leaving  only  the  house 
servants,  two  or  three  old  and  privileged  friends,  and  the 
living  Gary.  The  last  spoke  to  the  first,  thanked  them,  and 
sent  them  away ;  then,  addressing  himself  to  the  two  Church- 
ills  and  the  old  minister,  asked  that  he  be  left  alone.  They 


434  LEWIS   RAND 

went,  Major  Edward  turning  at  once,  the  others  following 
more  slowly.  He  watched  them  below  the  hill-top,  then  sat 
down  beside  the  grave  that  was  so  raw  and  red  for  all  the 
masking  flowers. 

At  sunset  Eli  and  Major  Edward,  grey  and  anxious,  watch 
ing  from  the  shadow  of  the  oaks,  saw  him  leave  the  burying- 
ground,  look  back  once  as  he  closed  the  gate,  and  come  slowly 
down  the  hill.  When  he  reached  the  house,  and,  after  going 
to  his  own  room,  came  down  into  the  library,  it  was  to  find 
Major  Churchill  ensconced  in  an  old  chair  by  the  western 
window,  with  a  book  in  his  hand.  He  looked  up  with  eyes 
yet  keen  and  dark  beneath  their  shaggy  brows.  "If  you'll 
allow  me,  Fair,  I  '11  borrow  this  Hobbes  of  yours.  It  is 
printed  larger  than  mine,  and  it  has  no  damned  annota 
tion!" 

Major  Edward  spent  the  night  at  Greenwood,  and  the 
two  played  chess  until  very  late.  The  next  morning,  coming 
stiffly  down  at  an  early  hour,  he  found  no  host.  Fairfax 
Gary,  he  discovered  on  enquiry,  had  ordered  his  horse  the 
night  before,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  had  ridden  off  alone. 
Major  Churchill  passed  the  morning  as  best  he  might.  He 
looked  once  from  the  windows  toward  the  little  graveyard 
on  the  hill,  and  thought  of  going  there,  then  shook  his  head 
and  pressed  his  lips  together.  He  was  old,  and  now,  when 
he  could,  he  evaded  woe.  The  young  had  fibre  and  nerve 
to  squander;  brittle  folk  must  walk  lightly.  The  Major 
stared  at  the  feathery  trees  that  marked  the  place.  The  green 
became  a  blur;  he  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  floor  with  vio 
lence,  said  something  between  his  teeth,  and  turned  from  the 
window  to  a  desolate  contemplation  of  the  backs  of  books. 

It  was  after  midday  when  Fairfax  Cary  returned.  He  came 
in,  white  and  steady,  apologized  for  his  absence,  and  or 
dered  dinner.  The  two  ate  little,  hardly  spoke,  but  drank 


GREENWOOD  435 

their  wine.    As  they  passed  out  of  the  dining-room,  the  elder 
said,  "You  have  been  — " 

"Yes.   The  river  road." 

They  reentered  the  library  and,  at  Gary's  suggestion,  sat 
down  again  at  the  chess-table.  They  played  one  game,  then 
fell  idle,  the  young  man  staring  straight  before  him  at  some 
invisible  object,  the  elder  watching  him  covertly  but  keenly. 

"When,"  said  the  Major  at  last,  —  "when  will  you  come 
with  me,  Fair,  to  Fontenoy?" 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  know.  Not  now.  I 
must  not  keep  you  here,  sir." 

"I  have  little  to  occupy  me  at  home.  You  will  tell  me 
when  I  can  do  nothing  for  you  here.  You  must  remember, 
Fair,  that  Dick  and  Nancy  and  Unity  and  I  and  even  little 
Deb  want  you,  very  heartily  and  lovingly  want  you,  with  us 
there.  Unity — " 

The  young  man  took  from  his  breast  a  folded  note.  "I 
have  this  from  Unity.  Read  it.  It  is  like  her." 

He  unfolded  it  and  gave  it  to  the  Major,  who  read  the  line 
it  contained. 

FAIRFAX,  —  I  will  marry  you  to-morrow  if  you  wish.  I 
know  —  I  know  it  is  lonely  at  Greenwood.  UNITY. 

Major  Churchill  cleared  his  throat.  "Yes,  it  is  like  her. 
And  why  not,  Fair  ?  Upon  my  soul,  I  do  advise  it!  I  advise 
it  strongly.  Not  to-morrow,  perhaps,  but  next  day  or  the  next. 
It  can  be  quietly  arranged  — there  could  have  been  no  wiser 
suggestion !  Take  her  at  her  word,  Fair." 

Gary  shook  his  head,  thrust  the  note  back  in  its  place,  and, 
rising  with  a  quivering  sigh,  walked  to  the  window.  He  stood 
there  for  some  moments,  his  brow  pressed  to  the  pane,  then 
returned  to  the  table  and,  standing  before  the  Major,  spoke 


436  LEWIS   RAND 

with  harsh  passion.  "  Is  marriage,  sir,  a  thing  for  me  to  think 
of  now  ?  No !  not  even  marriage  with  Unity  Dandridge.  To 
marry  now  —  to  forget  with  all  possible  haste  —  to  lie  close 
and  warm  and  happy  and  leave  him  there,  cold,  alone,  and 
unavenged !  No.  I  '11  not  do  that.  Wedding-bells,  even 
slowly  rung,  would  sound  strangely,  I  think,  to  his  ears.  And 
as  for  that  murderer,  he  might  say  when  he  heard  them, 
'Are  the  dead  so  soon  forgot  ?  Then  up,  heart!  for  this  bride 
groom  will  not  trouble  me.'  Major  Churchill,  I  will  live 
alone  at  Greenwood  until  I  have  proof  which  will  convince 
a  judge  and  jury  that  my  brother  was  not  the  only  man  who 
spurred  from  that  ford  by  the  river  road !  Lewis  Rand  may 
wind  and  double,  but  I  '11  scotch  him  yet,  there  by  Indian 
Run !  I  '11  transfix  him  there,  there  on  that  very  strand,  and 
call  the  world  to  see  the  man  who  murdered  Ludwell  Gary! 
When  that's  done,  I'll  rest,  maybe,  and  think  of  happiness." 

Major  Churchill  sat  back  in  the  deep  old  armchair  and 
rested  his  head  upon  his  hand.  The  hand  was  a  trembling 
hand;  the  old  soldier,  grey  arid  stark,  with  his  pinned-up 
sleeve,  looked  suddenly  a  beaten  soldier,  conquered  and  fugi 
tive.  The  young  man  saw  the  shaking  hand.  "You  need  no 
proof,  sir,"  he  said  harshly.  "  I  know  that  you  know.  You 
knew  there  beside  the  stream,  the  day  we  found  him." 

"Yes,  Fair." 

"And  did  you  not  know  that  I  knew?" 

"I  have  not  been  perfectly  certain,  but  — yes,  I  believed 
you  to  know." 

"I  will  not  say  that,  knowing  me,  —  for  until  now  I  have 
hardly  known  myself,  —  but  knowing  my  father,  sir,  could 
you  look  for  another  course  from  his  son  ?  My  brother's 
blood  cries  from  the  ground.  There  is  no  rest  and  no  peace 
for  me  until  his  murderer  pays!" 

"Yes,  Fair." 


GREENWOOD  437 

"I  cannot  tell  you  what  my  brother  was  to  me.  Brother 
of  the  flesh  and  of  the  spirit  too  —  David  —  Jonathan.  His 
friends  mine  and  his  enemies  mine,  his  honour  mine  — " 

"Yes,  Fair.    It  was  so  I  loved  Henry  Churchill." 

The  young  man  checked  his  speech,  gazed  at  his  guest  a 
moment  in  silence,  and  turned  away.  The  quiet  held  in  the 
old  room  where  bygone  Carys  looked  from  the  walls,  but  at 
last  the  Major  spoke  with  violence.  "Don't  think  that  I  do 
not  hate  that  man!  Spare  him,  in  himself,  one  iota  of  the 
penalty  —  not  I !  Cheat  justice,  see  the  law  futile  to  protect 
an  outraged  people,  stay  the  hangman's  hand  —  am  I  one 
to  will  that  ?  No  man  can  accuse  me  of  a  forgiving  spirit ! 
I,  too,  loved  your  brother;  I,  too,  believe  in  the  blood  debt! 
Ask  me  of  this  man  himself,  and  I  say,  ' Right!  Let  him 
have  it  to  the  hilt  —  death  and  shame ! '  But  —  but  - 

The  Major's  voice,  high  and  shaking  with  passion,  broke 
with  a  gasp.  He  had  sat  erect  to  speak,  but  now  he  sank 
back,  and  with  his  chin  upon  his  hand  looked  again  mere 
grey  defeat. 

Fairfax  Gary  turned  from  the  window.  "I  am  sorry,"  he 
said  coldly  and  harshly.  "In  a  lesser  thing,  Major  Churchill, 
that  consideration  might  stop  me.  It  cannot  do  so,  sir,  in 
this." 

"I  am  not  asking  that  it  should,"  answered  the  other. 
"I  seldom  ask  too  much  of  this  humanity.  You  will  do  what 
you  must,  and  what  you  will,  and  I  shall  comprehend  your 
motive  and  your  act.  But  I  will  stand  clear  of  you,  Fair. 
After  to-day,  you  plan  without  my  knowledge,  and  work  with 
out  my  aid!" 

"If  it  must  be  so,  sir." 

"I  have  called  myself,"  said  Major  Edward  sombrely, 
"  a  Spartan  and  a  Stoic.  I  believe  in  law  and  the  payment 
of  debts.  I  believe  that  a  murderer  should  be  tracked  down 


438  LEWIS   RAND 

and  shown  that  civilization  has  no  need  of  him.  I  loved  your 
brother.  And  I  sit  here,  a  weak  old  man,  and  say,  'Not  if 
it  strikes  through  a  woman's  heart!'  What  a  Stoic  the  Most 
High  must  be!" 

"  I  think  that  I  should  know  one  thing,  sir.  Is  it  your  be 
lief  that  he  has  told  your  niece  ?" 

The  Major  grew  dark  red,  and  straightened  himself  with 
a  jerk.  "Told  my  niece  ?  Made  her,  sir,  a  confidante  of  his 
villainy,  leagued  her  to  aid  him  in  cajoling  the  world  ?  I 
think  not,  sir;  I  trust  not!  I  would  not  believe  even  him  so 
universal  an  enemy.  If  I  thought  that,  sir,  —  but  no !  I 
have  seen  my  niece  Jacqueline  twice  since  — "  the  Major 
spoke  between  his  teeth  —  "since  Mr.  Rand's  return  from 
Richmond."  He  sat  a  moment  in  silence,  then  continued. 
"Her  grief  is  deep,  as  is  natural  —  do  we  not  all  grieve? 
But  if  I  have  skill  to  read  a  face,  she  carries  in  her  heart  no 
such  black  stone  as  that!  Remember,  please,  that  he  told  her 
nothing  of  his  plot  with  Burr.  You  will  oblige  me  by  no 
longer  indulging  such  an  idea." 

"Very  well,  sir.  I  know  that  Colonel  Churchill  has  no 
suspicion.  He  contends  that  it  was  some  gypsy  demon  — 
will  not  even  have  it  that  some  poor  white  from  about  the 
still  —  says  that  no  man  in  this  county  -  -  Well !  I,  too,  would 
have  thought  that  once." 

"My  brother  Dick  has  the  innocence  of  a  child.  But 
others  apparently  suspect  as  little.  You  and  I  are  alone  there. 
And  we  have  only  the  moral  conviction,  Fairfax.  They  were 
enemies,  and  they  were  in  the  same  county  on  the  same  day. 
That  is  all  you  have  to  go  upon.  He  has  somehow  made  a 
coil  that  only  the  serpent  himself  can  unwind. " 

"A  man  can  but  try,  sir.  I  shall  try.  If  you  talk  of  an 
inner  conviction,  I  have  that  conviction  that  I  shall  not  try 


in  vain." 


GREENWOOD  439 

Major  Edward  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  "God 
forbid  that  I  should  wish  the  murder  of  Ludwell  Gary 
unavenged !  But  —  but  —  shame  and  sorrow  —  and  Henry 
Churchill's  child "-  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  stalked 
across  the  room.  "I  am  tired  of  it  all,"  he  said,  "tired  of 
the  world,  life,  death,  pro  and  con,  affections,  hatreds,  sweets 
that  cloy,  bitterness  that  does  not  nourish,  the  gash  of  events, 
and  the  salt  with  which  memory  rubs  the  wound !  Man  that 
is  born  of  woman—  Pah  !"  He  straightened  himself,  flung 
up  his  grey  head,  and  moved  stiffly  to  a  bookcase.  "Where's 
Gascoigne's  Steel  Glasse  ?  I  know  you  've  got  a  copy  — 
Ludwell  told  me  so." 

"It  is  on  the  third  shelf,  the  left  side.  Major  Churchill, 
you  understand  that,  for  all  that  has  been  said,  I  must  yet 
go  my  way  ?" 

"Yes,  Fair,  I  understand,"  said  the  other.  "Do  what  you 
must  —  and  God  help  us  all ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

FAIRFAX    GARY 

THE  December  frost  lay  hard  upon  the  ground,  and 
a  pale  winter  sky  gleamed  above  and  between  bare 
limbs  of  trees.  In  Vinie  Mocket's  garden  withered 
and  bent  stalk  showed  where  had  been  zinnia  and  prince's 
feather,  and  the  grapevine  over  the  porch  was  but  a  mass 
of  twisted  stems.  The  sun  shone  bright,  however,  on  this  day, 
and  as  there  was  no  wind,  it  was  not  hard  to  imagine  it  warm 
out-of-doors  and  the  spring  somewhere  in  keeping.  It  was  the 
week  before  Christmas,  and  the  season  unwontedly  mild. 

Vinie,  seated  upon  the  doorstep  in  the  sun,  a  grey  shawl 
around  her  shoulders  and  her  pink  chin  in  her  hand,  stared 
at  the  Ragged  Mountains  and  wondered  when  Tom  was 
coming  to  dinner.  A  grey  cat  purred  in  the  sun  beside  her. 
Smut  the  dog,  lying  in  a  patch  of  light  upon  the  porch  floor, 
broke  out  of  a  dream,  got  up,  and  wagged  his  tail. 

"Who  do  you  hear,  Smut  ?"  asked  Vinie.  "/  think  it  ith 
Mr.  Adam." 

Adam  came  through  the  gate  that  had  never  been  mended 
and  up  the  little,  sunny  path.  He  had  his  gun,  and  in  addi 
tion  a  great  armful  of  holly  and  mistletoe,  and  he  deposited 
all  alike  upon  the  porch  floor.  "A  green  Christmas  we're 
having,"  he  announced  cheerfully,  "so  we  might  as  well  make 
it  greener !  I  thought  these  would  look  pretty  over  your  chim 
ney  glass." 

"They'll  be  lovely,"  answered  Vinie.  "I  just  somehow 
didn't  think  of  fixing  things  up  this  Christmas.  I'll  put 
them  all  around  the  parlour,  Mr.  Adam." 


FAIRFAX  CARY  441 

"  I  '11  put  them  for  you,"  said  Adam.  "  This  is  n't  mistletoe 
like  you  get  in  the  big  trees  south,  and  it  is  n't  holly  such  as 
grows  down  Williamsburgh  way  —  but  it's  mistletoe  and 
it's  holly." 

"Yeth,"  agreed  Vinie  listlessly.  "I  don't  know  which 
ith  the  prettier,  the  little  white  waxen  berries  or  the  red." 

"I  like  the  red,"  returned  the  hunter.  "That  in  your  hand 
—  bright  and  quick  as  blood-drops." 

"No,"  said  Vinie,  and  let  the  spray  drop  to  the  floor. 
"Blood  ith  darker  than  that." 

"Not  if  it's  heart's  blood  —  that's  bright  enough.  What 
is  the  matter,  little  partridge?" 

"  Nothing,"  Vinie  replied,  with  an  effort.  "  I  've  been  baking 
cake  all  morning,  and  I  'm  tired.  I  reckon  you  could  n't 
have  Christmas  without  baking  and  scrubbing  and  sweeping 
and  dusting  and  making  a  whole  lot  of  fuss  about  nothing  — 
nothing  at  all."  Her  voice  dragged  away. 

"You  could  n't  have  it  without  hanging  up  mistletoe  and 
holly,"  quoth  Adam.  "  I  've  been  a  month  in  these  parts,  and 
I  've  come  around  mighty  often  to  see  you  and  Tom.  Why 
won't  you  tell  me  ? " 

Vinie  turned  upon  him  startled  eyes.    "Tell  you?" 

"Tell  me  what  ails  you.  Why,  you  are  n't  any  more  like  — 
Don't  you  remember  that  morning,  a'most  four  years  ago, 
when  I  found  you  sitting  by  the  blackberry  bushes  on  the 
Fontenoy  road  ?  Yes,  you  do.  The  blackberries  were  in 
bloom,  and  you  had  on  a  pink  sunbonnet,  and  I  broke  you  a 
lot  of  wild  cherry  for  your  very  same  parlour  in  there.  You 
had  been  crying  that  day,  too, — oh,  I  knew!  —  but  you 
plucked  up  spirit  and  put  the  wild  cherry  all  around  the 
parlour.  And  now,  look  at  you!  —  you  aren't  a  partridge 
any  longer,  you  're  a  dove  without  a  mate.  Well,  why  don't 
you  cry,  little  dove  ? " 


442  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  don't  feel  like  crying,"  said  Vinie.  "There  isn't  any 
thing  the  matter  with  me.  I  'm  going  to  put  the  green  stuff 
up,  and  Tom's  got  ever  so  many  wax  candles  and  two  bottles 
of  Madeira,  and  you'll  come  to  supper — " 

"I'll  send  you  a  brace  of  wild  turkeys  Christmas  Eve. 
I  '11  shoot  them  over  on  Indian  Run." 

Vinie  shrank  back.  "You  look,"  exclaimed  Adam,  "as 
though  you  were  on  Indian  Run,  and  I  had  turned  my  gun 
on  you !  Why  did  you  go  white  and  sick  like  that  ? " 

He  glanced  at  her  again  with  keen,  deep  blue  eyes.  "Now 
the  colour  has  come  back.  Were  you  frightened  over  there  in 
those  woods  when  you  really  were  a  bird  ?  Indian  Run !  It  is 
more  than  three  months,  is  n't  it,  since  Mr.  Gary's  death  ? " 

"December,"  answered  Vinie,  in  a  fluttering  voice,  "De 
cember,  November,  October,  and  part  of  September  —  yeth, 
more  than  three  months.  Suppose  we  go  now  and  put  the 
holly  up?" 

"  Let 's  stay  here  a  little  in  the  sun.  The  holly  won't  wither. 
I  don't  know  a  doorstep,  East  or  West,  that  I  like  to  sit  on 
better  than  this.  There's  a  variety  of  log  cabins  that  I'm 
fond  of,  and  maybe  as  many  as  four  or  five  wigwams,  but 
I  'd  like  to  grow  old  sitting  in  the  sun  before  this  little  grey 
house !  It  is  n't  going  to  be  long  before  the  sap  runs  in  the 
sugar  trees  and  it's  spring.  Then  all  the  pretty  flowers  will 
come  up  again  and  I  '11  help  you  draw  cool  water  from  the 
well.  Don't  you  ever  wear  that  Spanish  comb  I  brought 
you?" 

"I've  got  it  put  away.    It's  lovely." 

"It  ought  n't  to  be  put  away.  It  ought  to  be  stuck  there, 
dark  shell  above  your  yellow  hair.  You  '11  wear  it,  won't  you, 
Christmas  Day  ? " 

"Yeth,  I'll  wear  it,  Mr.  Adam.  Who's  coming  now, 
Smut?" 


FAIRFAX   CARY  443 

"He  hears  a  horse.  Wear  the  Spanish  comb,  and  Tom 
shall  brew  us  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  we  might  get  in  some  gay 
folk  and  a  fiddle  and  have  a  dance.  I  'd  like  to  stand  up 
with  you,  little  partridge." 

Vinie  put  down  her  head  and  began  to  cry.  "It's  nothing, 
nothing!  There  isn't  anything  the  matter!  Don't  think  it, 
Mr.  Adam.  I  jutht  get  tired  and  cold,  and  Christmas  is  n't 
like  it  used  to  be.  Now  I  've  stopped  —  and  I  '11  dance  with 
you  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Adam." 

"  That 's  right,"  said  Adam.  "  Now,  you  dry  your  eyes,  and 
we'll  go  into  the  parlour  and  I'll  make  a  fire,  and  we'll  put 
leaves  and  berries  all  around.  Who  is  it  coming  by  ?  Mr. 
Fairfax  Gary." 

"Yeth,"  answered  Vinie.    "He  rides  a  black  horse."     * 

The  hunter  glanced  at  her  again.  "  Little  bird,"  he  thought, 
"your  voice  did  n't  use  to  have  so  many  notes."  Aloud  he 
said,  "  He 's  grown  to  look  like  his  brother.  I  met  him  in  the 
road  the  other  day  and  we  talked  awhile.  He 's  too  stern  and 
quiet,  though.  All  the  time  we  talked  I  was  thinking  of  a 
Cherokee  whom  I  once  met  following  a  war  party  that  had 
killed  his  wife.  Fairfax  Gary  had  just  the  same  air  as  that 
Indian  —  still, like  an  afternoon  on  a  mountain-top.  There's 
no  clue  yet  as  to  who  shot  his  brother." 

Fairfax  Gary,  going  by  on  Saladin,  lifted  his  hat  to 
the  woman  on  the  porch.  "Yes,  he's  like  that  Cherokee," 
repeated  Adam.  "Where's  he  riding?  —  to  Fontenoy,  I 
reckon.  Now,  little  partridge,  let's  go  make  the  parlour  look 
like  Christmas." 

Vinie  rose,  and  the  hunter  gathered  up  the  green  stuff. 
She  spoke  again  in  the  same  fluttered  voice.  "Mr.  Adam,  do 
you  think  —  do  you  think  they'll  ever  find  out  — " 

"Find  out  who  shot  Mr.  Gary?"  asked  Gaudylock. 
"They  may  —  there's  no  telling.  Every  day  makes  a  trail 


444  LEWIS   RAND 

like  that  more  overgrown  and  hard  to  read.  But  if  Fairfax 
Gary  is  truly  like  my  Cherokee,  I  'd  not  care  to  be  the  mur 
derer,  even  five  years  and  a  thousand  miles  from  here  and 
now.  You  may  be  sure  the  Cherokee  got  his  man.  Now 
you  take  the  mistletoe  and  I  '11  take  the  holly,  and  we  '11 
make  a  Christmas  bower  to  dance  in."  He  raised  his  great 
armful  and  went  into  the  house  singing,  - 

"Once  I  was  in  old  Kentucky, 
Christmas  time,  by  all  that's  lucky! 
Bear  meat,  deer  meat,  coon  and  possum, 
Apple-jack  we  did  allow  some, 
In  Kentucky. 

"Roaring  logs  and  whining  fiddle, 
Up  one  side  and  down  the  middle! 
Two  foot  snow  and  ne'er  a  flower, — 
But  Molly  Darke  she  danced  that  hour, 
In  Kentucky!" 

The  hunter's  surmise  was  correct.  Fairfax  Cary  rode 
slowly  on  upon  the  old,  familiar  way  to  Fontenoy.  All  the 
hills  were  brown,  winter  earth  and  winter  air  despite  the 
brightness  of  the  sunshine.  A  blue  stream  rippled  by,  pine 
and  cedar  made  silhouettes  against  a  tranquil  sky,  and  crows 
were  cawing  in  a  stubble-field.  Cary  rode  slowly,  plod 
ding  on  with  a  thoughtful  brow.  The  few  whom  he  met 
greeted  him  respectfully,  and  he  answered  them  readily 
enough,  then  pursued  his  way,  again  in  a  brown  study.  The 
Fontenoy  gates  were  reached  at  last,  and  he  was  about  to 
bend  from  his  saddle  and  lift  the  heavy  latch,  when  a  slim 
black  girl  in  a  checked  gown  made  a  sudden  appearance  in 
the  driveway  upon  the  other  side.  "  I  '11  open  hit,  sah !  Don' 
you  trouble.  Dar  now!" 

The  gate  swung  open,  Cary  rode  through,  and  Deb  ap 
peared  beside  Miranda.  "We've  been  walking  a  mile,"  she 


FAIRFAX   GARY  445 

announced.  "Down  the  drive  and  back  again,  through  the 
hollow,  round  the  garden,  and  up  to  the  glass  door  —  that's 
a  mile.  Are  you  going  to  stay  to  supper  ? " 

Gary  dismounted  and  walked  beside  her,  his  bridle  over 
his  arm.  "I  don't  think  so,  Deb,  —  not  to-night." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Deb  wistfully.  "You  used  to  all 
the  time,  and  you  most  never  do  now.  And  —  and  it's 
Christmas,  and  we  are  n't  going  to  decorate,  or  have  a 
party,  or  people  staying!"  Deb's  chin  trembled.  "I  don't 
like  houses  in  mourning." 

"Neither  do  I,  Deb." 

The  colour  streamed  into  his  companion's  small  face.  "  I 
did  n't  mean  —  I  did  n't  mean  —  I  forgot!  Oh,  Mr.  Fair 
er  » 

I  <1A, 

"Dear  Deb,  don't  mind.  I  wish  you  were  going  to  have  a 
Christmas  as  bright  as  bright !  Won't  there  be  any  brightness 
for  you  ?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  answered  Deb,  with  bravery.  "I  am 
going  to  have  a  lovely  time.  Uncle  Dick  says  I  can  do  what 
I  please  with  the  schoolroom,  and  Miranda  and  I  and  the 
quarter  children  —  we're  going  to  decorate.  Unity's  going 
to  show  us  how,  and  Scipio's  going  to  put  up  the  wreaths. 
The  quarter's  to  have  its  feast  just  the  same,  and  I'm  going 
to  help  Unity  give  out  the  presents.  I  expect  it  will  be  beau 
tiful!" 

The  twro  walked  on,  Miranda  following.  Cary  took  the 
child's  hand.  "I  expect  it  will  be  beautiful  too,  Deb.  Some 
times  ever  so  much  brightness  in  just  a  little  place  makes  up 
for  the  grey  all  around.  Are  n't  you  going  to  let  me  see  the 
schoolroom  ? " 

"Oh,  would  you  like  to  ?"  cried  Deb,  brightening.  "Cer 
tainly,  Mr.  Fairfax.  Christmas  is  lovely,  is  n't  it  ?  Unity 
says  that  maybe  she  and  I  will  slip  down  to  the  quarter 


446  LEWIS   RAND 

and  watch  them  dancing.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  parties, 
nor  people  staying!" 

Deb  squeezed  her  companion's  hand,  and  kept  silence  from 
the  big  elm  to  the  lilac-bushes.  Then  she  broke  out.  "  But 
I  don't  understand  —  I  don't  understand  at  all  - 

Gary,  looking  down  upon  her,  saw  her  little  pointed  chin 
quiver  again,  and  her  brown  eyes  swim.  "What  don't  you 
understand,  poor  little  Deb  ?" 

"I  don't  understand  why  I  can't  go  to  Roselands.  I've 
always  gone  the  day  after  every  Christmas,  and  it  is  always 
like  Christmas  over  again!  And  now  Uncle  Dick  says,  'Stay 
at  home,  chicken,  this  year,'  and  Uncle  Edward  says  he 
needs  me  to  tell  him  stories,  and  Unity  begged  them  at  first 
to  let  me  go,  but  when  they  would  n't,  she  said  that  she 
could  n't  beg  them  any  more,  and  that  she  did  n't  think 
the  world  was  going  right  anyhow."  The  tears  ran  over. 
"And  Jacqueline,"  continued  Deb,  in  a  stifled  little  voice,  — 
"Jacqueline  wrote  me  a  letter  and  said  not  to  come  this  year 
if  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward  wanted  me  at  home.  She 
told  me  I  must  always  obey  and  love  them  —  just  as  if  I 
did  n't  anyhow.  She  said  she  loved  me  more  than  most  any 
thing,  but  I  don't  think  that  is  loving  me  —  to  think  I  'd 
better  not  come  to  Roselands.  She  said  I  was  most  a  woman, 
and  so  I  am,  —  I  'm  more  than  twelve,  —  and  that  I  was  to 
love  her  always  and  know  that  she  loved  me.  Of  course  I 
shall  love  Jacqueline  always  —  but  I  wanted  to  go  to  Rose- 
lands."  Deb  felt  in  her  pocket,  found  a  tiny  handkerchief, 
and  applied  it  to  her  eyes.  "It's  not  like  Christmas  not  to 
go  to  Roselands  the  day  after  —  and  I  think  people  are 
cruel." 

"I  would  n't  think  that  of  your  sister,  Deb,"  said  Cary, 
with  gentleness.  "  Your  sister  is  n't  cruel.  Don't  cry." 

"I'm  not,"  answered  Deb,  and  put  carefully  away  a  wet 


FAIRFAX   GARY  447 

ball  of  handkerchief.  "  I  hope  you  '11  like  the  schoolroom, 
Mr.  Fairfax.  It's  all  cedar  and  red  berries,  and  Miranda's 
and  my  dolls  are  sitting  in  the  four  corners.  It's  lovely 
weather  for  Christmas  —  though  I  wanted  it  to  snow." 

Major  Edward,  seated  at  an  old  desk,  going  over  old 
papers,  looked  up  as  Gary  entered  the  library.  A  fire  of 
hickory  crackled  and  flamed  on  the  hearth,  making  a  light  to 
play  over  the  portrait  of  Henry  Churchill  and  over  the  swords 
crossed  beneath.  An  old  hound  named  Watch  slept  under 
the  table,  the  tall  clock  ticked  loudly,  and  through  the  glass 
doors,  beyond  the  leafless  trees,  showed  the  long  wave  of  the 
Blue  Ridge. 

"Is  it  you,  Fair?"  demanded  the  Major.    "Come  in 
come  in !   I  am  merely  going  over  old  letters.  They  can  wait. 
The  men  who  wrote  them  are  all  dead."    He  turned  in  his 
chair.    "  Have  you  just  come  in  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

u  Unity  was  here  awhile  ago.  She  went  through  the  glass 
door  —  down  to  the  quarter,  I  suppose." 

"  I  will  stay  here  for  a  while,  sir,  if  I  may.  Don't  let  me 
disturb  you.  I  will  take  a  book." 

"You  do  not  disturb  me,"  answered  the  Major.  "I  was 
reading  a  letter  from  Hamilton,  written  long  ago  —  long 
ago." 

"I  met  Deb  in  the  driveway  and  we  walked  to  the  house 
together.  Poor  little  maid !  She  is  mightily  distressed  because 
she  thinks  there 's  a  lack  of  Christmas  cheer.  I  wish,  sir,  that 
she  might  have  a  merry  Christmas." 

"We'll  do  our  best,  Fair.    Unity  shall  make  it  bright." 

"The  servants,  too, —  I  give  mine  the  usual  feast  at  Green 
wood,  and  I  'm  going  down  to  the  quarter  for  half  an  hour." 

"The  Carys  make  good  masters.  In  that  respect  all  here, 
too,  goes  on  as  usual.  As  for  Deb,  the  child  shall  have  the 


448  LEWIS   RAND 

happiest  day  we  can  give  her."  He  took  from  a  drawer  a 
small  morocco  case  and  opened  it.  "She'll  have  from  Dick 
a  horse  and  saddle,  and  I  give  her  this."  He  held  out  the 
case,  and  Gary  praised  the  small  gold  watch  with  D.  C. 
marked  in  pearls.  "The  only  thing,"  continued  Major 
Edward  wearily,  "is  that  she  cannot  go  to  Roselands.  She 
has  cried  her  heart  out  over  that." 

"You  declined  the  invitation  for  her?" 

"Yes.  I  made  Dick  do  so.  She  is  growing  into  woman 
hood.  It  will  not  answer." 

"Then,  sir,  Colonel  Churchill  must  know - 

"He  doesn't  'know,'"  said  the  Major  doggedly.  "No 
body  really  knows.  We  may  be  all  pursuing  a  spectre.  I  told 
Dick  enough  to  make  him  see  that  Deb  should  not  be  brought 
into  contact  - 

There  was  a  silence.  Gary  studied  the  fire,  and  Major 
Churchill  unfolded  deftly  with  his  one  hand  a  yellowing 
paper,  glanced  over  it,  and  laid  it  in  a  separate  drawer.  "An 
order  from  General  Washington  —  the  Andre  matter.  Deb 
shall  not  visit  Roselands  again.  Dick  and  I  are  not  going  to 
have  both  of  Henry's  children"  The  Major's  voice  broke. 
"Pshaw!  this  damned  weather  gives  a  man  a  cold  that  Valley 
Forge  itself  could  n't  give ! "  He  unfolded  another  paper. 
"What's  this?  Benedict  Arnold!  Faugh!"  Rising,  he  ap 
proached  the  fire  and  threw  the  letter  in,  then  turned  impa 
tiently  upon  the  younger  man.  "Well,  Fairfax  Gary?" 

"Is  it  still,"  asked  Gary  slowly,  "your  opinion  that  she  does 
not  know  ? " 

"She?" 

"Mrs.  Rand." 

Major  Edward  dragged  a  chair  to  the  corner  of  the  hearth 
and  sat  heavily  down.  He  bent  forward,  a  brooding,  melan 
choly  figure,  a  thin  old  veteran,  grey  and  scarred.  The  fire- 


FAIRFAX   CARY  449 

light  showed  strongly  square  jaw,  hawk  nose,  and  beetle 
brows.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  voice  inexpressibly  sombre. 
"I  have  seen  my  niece  but  three  times  since  September.  If 
you  ask  me  now  what  you  asked  me  then,  I  shall  answer  dif 
ferently.  I  do  not  know  —  I  do  not  know  if  she  knows  or 
not!" 

"I  think,  sir,  that  I  have  a  clue.  The  hour  when  he  passed 
Red  Fields—" 

Major  Churchill  put  up  a  shaking  hand.  "No,  sir!  Re 
member  our  bargain.  I  '11  not  hear  it.  I  '11  weigh  no  evidence 
on  this  subject.  Enough  for  me  to  know  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
that  this  man  murdered  Ludwell  Gary,  and  that  he  dwells 
free  at  Roselands,  blackening  my  niece  —  that  he  rides  free 
to  town  —  pleads  his  cases  —  does  his  work  —  ingratiates 
himself,  and  grows,  grows  in  the  esteem  of  his  county  and  his 
state!  That,  I  say,  is  enough,  sir!  If  you  have  your  clue,  for 
God's  sake  don't  impart  it  to  me !  I  've  told  you  I  will  not 
make  nor  meddle. "  Major  Edward  began  to  cough.  "  Open 
the  window,  will  you  ?  The  room  is  damned  hot.  Well,  sir, 
well?" 

"I'll  say  no  more,  then,  sir,  as  to  that,"  Gary  answered 
from  the  window.  "  I  wish  absolutely  to  respect  your  position. 
It  will  do  no  harm,  however,  to  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to 
Richmond  the  day  after  Christmas." 

"To  Richmond!   What  are  you  going  to  Richmond  for  ?" 

"I  want,"  replied  the  other,  with  restrained  passion,—  "I 
want  to  ride  from  Shockoe  Hill  at  three  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  with  my  face  to  Roselands,  and  in  my  heart  the  know 
ledge  that  I  have  been  foiled  and  thwarted  in  deep-laid  and 
cherished  schemes  by  the  one  whom,  for  no  especially  good 
reason,  I  have  singled  out  of  the  world  to  be  my  enemy !  I  want 
to  feel  the  black  rage  of  the  Rands  in  my  heart.  I  want  to 
sleep,  the  third  night,  at  the  Cross  Roads  Tavern,  and  I  want 


450  LEWIS   RAND 

to  go  on  in  the  morning  by  Malplaquet.  I  want  to  learn  at 
Forrest's  forge  that  Ludwell  Gary  is  on  the  road  before  me. 
Perhaps,  by  the  time  I  reach  the  mill  and  cross  the  ford,  I  will 
remember  what  it  was  that  I  did  next,  and  how  I  managed  to 
be  on  two  roads  at  once ! " 

He  turned,  and  took  up  from  a  chair  his  hat  and  riding- 
whip.  "  'T  is  no  easy  feat,"  he  said,  with  grimness,  "to  put 
one's  self  in  the  place  of  Lewis  Rand.  But  then,  other  things 
are  not  easy  either.  I  '11  not  grudge  a  little  straining."  He 
stood  before  the  Major,  holding  out  his  hand  —  a  handsome 
figure  in  his  mourning  dress,  resolute,  quiet,  no  longer 
breathing  outward  grief,  ready  even,  when  occasion  de 
manded,  to  smile  or  to  laugh,  but  essentially  altered  and 
fixed  to  one  point.  "  I  think,  sir,  I  will  look  now  for  Unity. 
There  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  her.  Good-bye,  sir.  I 
shall  not  come  again  until  after  New  Year." 

Miss  Dandridge,  mounting  the  hill  from  the  quarter,  and 
sitting  down  to  rest  upon  a  great,  sun-bathed  stone  beside 
the  foot-path,  heard  a  quick  step  and  looked  up  to  greet  her 
betrothed.  "It  is  so  warm  and  bright,"  she  said,  "in  this 
fence-corner  that  I  feel  as  though  summer  were  on  the  way. 
The  stone  is  large  —  there 's  room  for  you,  too,  here  in  the 
sunshine." 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  "You  have  been  making  Christ 
mas  for  the  quarter  ? " 

"  1  've  been  telling  them  that  Christmas  is  to  be  bright.  I 
have  not  seen  you  for  a  week." 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "Unity,  I 
have  been  sitting  there  at  home  at  Greenwood,  thinking, 
thinking !  Page  came  to  see  me,  but  I  was  such  poor  company 
that  he  did  not  tarry  long.  I  rode  here  to-day  to  say  some 
thing  to  you  —  Unity,  don't  you  think  you  had  better  give 
me  up  ? " 


FAIRFAX  CARY  451 

"No!  I  don't—" 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  fair  to  you.  I  am  not  the  man  you 
knew  —  except  in  loving  you  I  am  not  the  man  who  sat  with 
you  beneath  the  catalpa.  I  am  bereaved  of  the  better  part 
of  me,  and  I  see  one  object  held  up  before  me  like  a  wand. 
I  must  reach  that  wand  or  all  effort  is  fruitless,  and  there  is 
no  achievement  and  no  harvest  in  my  life.  I  may  be  years  in 
reaching  it.  I  love  you  dearly  and  deeply,  but  I  am  not  given 
over  to  love.  I  am  given  over  to  reaching  that  wand.  It  has 
seemed  to  me,  sitting  there  at  Greenwood,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  after  Page's  visit,  that  I  should  give  you  freedom  — " 

"It  seems  to  me,  sitting  here  upon  this  stone,"  answered 
Unity,  "that  I  will  not  take  it!  And  what  under  the  sun  Mr. 
Page's  visit  -  I  will  wait  until  you  are  at  leisure  to  love  me 
as  —  as  —  as  you  loved  me  that  day  under  the  catalpa  when 
you  flung  Eloi'sa  to  Abelard  into  the  rosebushes !  Don't  — 
don't !  I  like  to  cry  a  little." 

"I  have  determined,"  he  said,  "to  tell  you  what  I  am 
doing.  You  know  that  I  seek  to  discover  my  brother's  mur 
derer,  but  you  have  not  guessed  that  I  know  his  name.  It 
is  Lewis  Rand  whom  I  pursue,  and  it  is  Lewis  Rand  whom 
I  will  convict  of  that  deed  on  Indian  Run ! " 

She  gave  a  cry.  "Lewis  Rand!  Fair,  Fair,  that's  impos 
sible!" 

"Is  it?"  he  asked  sombrely.  "Impossible  to  prove,  per 
haps,  though  I  'm  not  prepared  to  grant  that  either,  but  true, 
Unity,  true  as  many  another  black  'impossible'  has  been!" 

"  But  —  but  —  No  one  thinks  —  no  one  suspects.  Fair, 
Fair !  are  you  not  mistaken  ? " 

"No.  Nor  am  I  quite  alone  in  my  conviction.  And  one 
day  the  world  that  suspects  nothing  shall  know." 

There  was  a  silence ;  then,  "  But  Jacqueline,"  she  whispered, 
with  whitening  lips.  "Jacqueline"  — 


452  LEWIS   RAND 

"She  chose,"  he  answered.  "I  cannot  help  it.  She  took 
her  road  and  her  companion." 

"And  you  mean  —  you  mean  - 

"  I  mean  to  bring  him  to  justice." 

"To  break  her  heart  and  ruin  her  life  —  to  bring  down 
wretchedness,  misery,  disgrace !  Oh ! "  She  caught  her  breath. 
"And  Deb  —  and  Uncle  Dick  and  Uncle  Edward  —  Fair, 
Fair,  leave  him  alone!" 

"You  must  not  ask  me  that." 

"  But  Ludwell  would  —  Ludwell  would  have  asked  it ! 
Oh,  do  you  think  he  would  have  endured  to  bring  woe  like 
that  upon  her!  Oh,  Fair,  Fair, — " 

Gary  sprang  to  his  feet,  walked  away,  and  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  great  stone  and  his  face  toward  Greenwood.  He 
saw  but  one  thing  there,  the  graveyard  on  the  hill  beneath  the 
leafless  trees.  When  he  came  back  to  Unity,  he  looked  as  he 
had  looked  beside  the  dead,  that  day  on  Indian  Run. 

"We  are  alike,  Ludwell  and  I,"  he  said,  "but  we  are  not 
that  much  alike.  I  am  little  now  but  an  avenger  of  blood.  I 
shall  be  that  until  this  draws  to  an  end."  He  came  closer  and 
touched  her  shoulder  with  his  hand.  "Take  me  or  leave  me 
as  I  am,  Unity.  I  shall  not  change,  not  even  for  you." 

"  But  for  tenderness,"  she  cried,  "for  mercy,  for  considera 
tion  of  an  old  house,  for  Jacqueline  whom  your  brother  loved 
as  you  love  —  as  once  you  said  you  loved  —  me !  For  just 
pity,  Fair!" 

"On  the  other  side,"  he  answered,  "is  justice.  Don't  urge 
me,  Unity.  That  is  something  your  uncle  has  not  done." 

"Uncle  Edward?" 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  silence;  then,  "I  see  now,"  said  Unity  slowly. 
"I  haven't  understood.  I  thought  —  I  didn't  know  what 
to  think.  Uncle  Edward,  too,  —  oh  me!  oh  me!  That  is  why 


FAIRFAX   CARY  453 

Deb  is  not  to  go  to  Roselands."  She  considered  through 
blinding  tears  a  little  patch  of  sere  grass.  "  But  Jacqueline," 
she  whispered,  —  "Jacqueline  does  not  know  ?" 

Gary  looked  at  her.   "  Do  you  think  that,  Unity  ?" 

Unity  stared  at  the  grass  until  the  tears  all  dried.  "She 
knows  —  she  knows!  That  was  a  heart-breaking  letter  to 
Deb,  and  I  could  n't  —  I  could  n't  understand  it!  She  does 
not  ask  me  there  —  does  not  seem  to  want  to  meet  —  I've 
hardly  seen  her  since  —  since —  And  when  we  meet,  she's 
strange  —  too  gay  at  first  for  her,  and  then  too  still,  with  wide 
eyes  she  will  not  let  me  read.  And  she  talks  and  talks  —  she 
talks  now  more  than  I  do.  She 's  not  truly  Jacqueline  —  she 's 
acting  a  part.  Oh,  Jacqueline,  Jacqueline!" 

"  Be  very  sure,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  for  her  only  pity, 
admiration,  yes,  and  understanding!" 

"But  you  intend  —  you  intend  — ' 

"To  bring  Lewis  Rand  to  justice.   Yes,  I  intend  that." 

From  the  quarter  below  them  came  the  blowing  of  the 
afternoon  horn.  The  short,  bright  winter  day  was  waning, 
and  though  the  sun  yet  dwelt  upon  the  hill-top,  the  hollow  at 
its  base  was  filled  with  shadow.  Unity  rose  from  the  stone. 
"  I  must  go  back  to  the  house.  I  promised  Deb  I  would  read 
to  her."  She  caught  her  breath.  "  It  is  the  Arabian  Nights  - 
and  he  gave  it  to  her,  and  she's  always  talking  of  him.  Oh, 
all  of  us  poor  children!  Oh,  I  used  to  think  the  world  so 
sweet  and  gay!" 

"What  do  you  think,"  he  said,  "of  the  one  who  turns  it 
bitter?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  pleading  eyes.  "Fair,  Fair,  will 
you  not  forego  it  —  forego  vengeance  ?" 

"It  is  not  vengeance,"  he  answered.  "It  is  something 
deeper  than  that.  I  don't  think  that  I  can  explain.  It  seems 
to  me  that  it  is  destiny  and  all  that  destiny  rests  upon."  He 


454  LEWIS   RAND 

drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  twice.  "Will  you  wait  for  me, 
wait  on  no  other  terms  than  these  ?  If  you  will,  God  bless  you ! 
If  it  is  a  task  beyond  your  strength,  God  bless  you  still.  You 
will  do  right  to  give  it  up.  Which,  Unity,  which  ?  And  if  you 
wait  for  me,  you  must  go  no  more  to  that  man's  house.  If 
you  wait  for  me,  my  brother  is  your  brother." 

"I  will  never  give  up  Jacqueline!" 

"I  do  not  ask  it.  But  you'll  go  no  more  to  that  house, 
speak  no  more  to  the  man  she  most  unhappily  wedded.  That 
is  my  right  —  if  you  wait  for  me." 

She  turned  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  "Oh,  Fair,  if 
it  is  only  he  himself — if  it  is  only  that  dark  and  wicked 
man  —  if  you  do  not  ask  me  to  stop  loving  her,  or  writing  to 
her,  or  seeing  her  when  I  can  — " 

"That  is  all  —  only  to  speak  no  more  to  that  dark  and 
wicked  man." 

"Then  I  '11  wait  —  I  '11  wait  till  doomsday !  Oh,  the  world ! 
Oh,  the  thing  called  love !  Don't  —  don't  speak  to  me  until 
I  cry  it  out." 

She  wept  for  a  while,  then  dried  her  eyes  and  tried  to  smile. 
"That's  over.  Let  us  go  now  and  —  and  read  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Oh  me,  oh  me,  if  we  are  not  merry  here,  what 
must  Christmas  be  at  Roselands!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE    IMAGE 

THE  murderer  of  Ludwell  Gary  unlocked  the  green 
door  of  the  office  in  Charlottesville,  entered,  and 
opened  the  shutters  of  the  small,  square  windows. 
Outside  was  a  tangle  of  rose-stems,  but  no  leaf  or  bloom.  The 
January  sunshine  streamed  palely  in,  whitening  the  deal  floor 
and  striking  against  a  great  land  map  on  the  wall.  Upon  the 
hearth  had  been  thrown  an  armful  of  hickory  and  pine. 
Rand,  kneeling,  laid  a  fire,  struck  a  spark  into  the  tinder,  and 
had  speedily  a  leap  and  colour  of  pointed  flames.  He  rose, 
opened  his  desk,  drew  papers  out  of  pigeon-holes  and  laid 
them  in  order  upon  the  wood,  then  pushed  before  it  his 
accustomed  chair.  He  did  not  take  the  latter;  instead,  after 
standing  a  moment  with  an  indescribable  air  of  weary  uncer 
tainty,  he  turned,  went  back  to  the  firelit  hearth,  sat  down, 
and,  bending  forward,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

A  cricket  began  to  chirp  upon  the  hearth,  then  the  branch 
of  a  sycamore,  moved  by  the  wind,  struck  violently  against  the 
low  eaves  of  the  house.  Rand  arose,  put  his  hands  to  his  tem 
ples,  and  moved  away. 

There  were  law-books  on  the  shelves,  and  he  took  down 
one  and  fell  to  studying  statutes  that  bore  upon  a  case  he  had 
in  court.  He  read  for  a  time  with  a  frown  of  attention,  but  by 
degrees  all  interest  flagged.  He  turned  a  page,  looked  at  it 
with  vagueness,  and  turned  no  more.  His  chin  fell  upon  his 
hand,  and  he  sat  staring  at  the  patch  of  sunshine  on  the  floor. 
It  was  like  light  on  water  —  light  on  Indian  Run. 

Five  minutes  more  and  Mocket  came  in,  soft  and  quick 


456  LEWIS   RAND 

upon  his  feet,  sandy-haired  and  freckle-faced,  with  his 
quaint,  twisted  smile,  and  watery  blue  eye,  that  glanced 
aslant  at  his  friend  and  partner.  "Good-morning,  Lewis." 

"Good-morning,  Tom." 

Mocket  stood  by  the  fire,  warming  his  hands.  "If 't  was  a 
mild  December,  't  is  cold  enough  now!  The  wind  is  icy,  and 
it's  blowing  hard." 

"Is  it  ?   I  thought  the  air  was  still." 

As  he  spoke,  Rand  arose,  replaced  the  book  on  the  shelf, 
sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  began  to  unfold  papers.  "Work !" 
he  said  presently,  in  a  dull  voice.  "Work!  That  is  the  straw 
at  which  to  catch !  Perhaps  one  might  make  of  it  a  raft  to  bear 
one's  weight.  I  have  known  the  day  when  in  work  I  have 
forgotten  hunger,  thirst,  weariness,  calamity.  I  have  worked 
at  night  and  grudged  an  hour  to  sleep.  What  I  have  done, 
cannot  I  do  again  ?  But  I  would  work  better,  Tom,  if  I  could 
get  some  sleep." 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  bad  nights,"  said  Tom;  "but  if  you 
slept  as  deep  and  innocent  as  a  babe,  you  could  n't  do  better 
work.  That  was  a  praising  piece  about  you  in  the  Enquirer." 

"Nothing  less  than  eulogy,  Tom,  nothing  less!  Well  — 
get  to  work !  Get  to  work !  " 

"I've  brought  the  papers  on  this  case  that  old  Berry  has 
been  copying."  Tom  threw  more  wood  on  the  fire,  then 
moved  to  his  own  desk,  dragging  a  chair  after  him.  "By  the 
way,  I  stopped  at  the  Eagle  for  a  dram  to  keep  out  the  cold, 
and  who  should  come  riding  by  but  Fairfax  Gary  — : 

"Ah!"  said  Rand.    "Is  he  home  from  Richmond  ?" 

"I  did  n't  know  that  he  had  been  to  Richmond." 

"Yes.    He  went  two  weeks  ago." 

"  I  had  n't  observed  it.  Well,  whenever  he  went,  he 's 
back  again.  As  I  say,  I  was  coming  down  the  steps,  buttoning 
up  my  coat,  and  he  drew  rein  —  he  was  riding  his  brother's 


THE   IMAGE  457 

horse  and  he  looked  like  his  brother  —  and  he  says  to  me, 
says  he,  'Mr.  Mocket, 

Tom  broke  off,  turned  the  papers  in  his  hand,  and  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  disgust.  "Old  Berry  is  getting  to  be  too 
poor  a  copyist !  You  '11  have  to  give  this  work  somewhere 
else." 

Rand  spoke  in  his  measured  voice.  "What  did  Fairfax 
Gary  say,  Tom  ? " 

"Why,  he  did  n't  say  much,  and  I  'm  sure  I  did  n't  get  any 
meaning  out  of  what  he  did  say!  His  words  were,  'Mr. 
Mocket,  I  wish  I  could  remember  all  that,  on  several  occa 
sions,  I  must  have  said  to  you.'  Seeing,"  continued  Tom, 
"that  I  have  n't  spoken  to  him  more  than  a  dozen  times  in 
my  life,  I  should  n't  consider  there  would  be  much  difficulty 
in  that,  and  I  told  him  as  much.  'You're  mistaken,'  he  said. 
'It  is  difficult.  We  all  have  bad  memories.  I've  been  won 
dering,  seeing  that  I  have  talked  to  you  of  so  much,  if  I  ever 
talked  to  you  of  that.  On  the  whole,  I  don't  think  that  I 
ever  have.  Cultivate  your  memory,  Mr.  Mocket.  Mine  is 
a  damnably  poor  one.'  And  so,"  ended  Tom,  "he  rode 
away  and  left  me  staring.  I  don't  know  whether  his  head  is 
turned  or  not,  but  he  looked  strong  enough  for  anything 
and  all  a  Gary.  If  you  know  what  he  meant,  it  is  more  than 
I  do.  These  reports  are  all  straight  enough  now.  Do  you 
want  to  look  over  them  ?" 

"No,"  said  his  partner,  and  stood  up,  moving  back  his 
chair  with  a  grating  sound.  "I  don't  know  why  —  I'm 
restless  to-day."  Walking  across  the  room,  he  stopped  before 
the  map  upon  the  wall,  and  stood  there  a  long  while  in  silence. 

"How  would  it  do,  Tom,"  he  asked  at  last,  in  a  curiously 
remote  and  dreamy  voice,  —  "how  would  it  do  to  find  two 
or  three  great  white-covered  waggons,  store  them  with  all  a 
childless  family  would  need,  put  to  them  teams  sound  and 


458  LEWIS   RAND 

strong,  procure  a  horse  or  two  besides,  a  slave  or  two,  a 
faithful  dog,  —  then  to  take  the  long  road  —  west  —  south 
—  somewhere  —  anywhere  —  past  the  mountains  and  away* 
away'*  His  voice  sank,  then  gathered  strength  and  went 
on.  "Flood  and  forest,  low  hills  and  endless  plains,  stillness 
and  a  measure  of  peace !  Left  behind  the  demon  care,  full 
before  the  eye  the  red,  descending  sun  —  at  night  the  camp- 
fire,  at  dawn  the  start,  and  in  between  mere  sleep  without  a» 
dream!  It  is  conceivable  that,  after  much  travel,  in  some 
hollow  or  by  some  spring,  after  long  days  and  after  sleep, 
one  might  stumble  on  new  life. "  He  struck  the  map  with 
his  hand.  "Tom,  sometimes  I  think  that  I  will  remove  from 
Virginia  to  the  West." 

"You'd  be  a  fool  to  do  that  now,"  answered  Tom  suc 
cinctly.  "  But  you  won't  do  it.  I  don't  know  what  has  been 
the  matter  with  you  this  winter,  but  I  reckon  you  still  love 
power.  Next  year  you  '11  be  named  for  Governor  of  Virginia." 

He  fed  the  fire  again,  then,  going  to  the  window,  looked 
down  the  street.  "The  wind  has  fallen." 

"I  am  going,"  said  Rand's  voice  behind  him,  "to  ride 
down  the  Three-Notched  Road.  Mrs.  Selden  sends  me  word 
that  old  Carfax  is  annoying  her  again." 

"Can't  I  go  for  you?" 

"No.    I  do  not  mind  the  ride.    Get  the  papers  ready  for 


court  to-morrow." 


Mocket  helped  him  on  with  his  heavy  bottle-green  riding- 
coat.  "Lewis,"  spoke  the  scamp,  with  a  queer  note  of  affec 
tion  and  deprecation,  "why  don't  you  see  Dr.  Gilmer  ? 
You're  growing  thin,  and  do  you  know,  you're  haunted- 
looking!  Tell  him  you  cannot  sleep,  and  make  him  give  you 
bark  or  something.  I  could  n't  carry  on  business  without 
you,  you  know." 

Rand  looked  at  him  with  dark  and  sombre  eyes.  "Could  n't 


THE   IMAGE  459 

you,  poBBHJprSrri  ?  Well,  we  '11  keep  it  on  awhile  together. 
I  don't  want  the  doctor.  Once,  long  ago,  I  might  have  doc 
tored  myself."  He  laughed.  "Now  there's  no  bark  in  Peru 
—  no  balm  in  Gilead.  Well,  what  we  cannot  have,  we  must 
do  without !  Look  out,  will  you,  and  see  if  Young  Isham  is 
there  with  Selim  ? " 

The  Three-Notched  Road  stretched  red  and  stark  between 
rusty  cedars  and  gaunt  trunks  of  locust  trees.  It  was  cold, 
and  overhead  the  sun  was  fighting  with  the  clouds.  Rand 
went  rapidly,  his  powerful  horse  taking  the  road  with  a  long 
and  easy  stride.  Few  were  abroad;  the  bare  and  frozen 
fields  stretched  on  either  hand  to  the  hills,  the  hills  rose  to 
the  mountains,  grey  and  sullen  in  the  changing  light.  That 
meadow,  field,  and  hill  had  once  been  mantled  with  tender 
verdure,  and  would  be  so  again,  was  hard  to  believe,  the  land 
lay  so  naked  and  so  grim. 

Mrs.  Selden's  small,  red  brick  mansion  appeared  among 
the  leafless  trees.  Rand  checked  Selim  slightly,  gazing  at  the 
place  with  the  weary  uncertainty  he  had  before  exhibited, 
then  turned  for  the  moment  from  the  task,  irksome  now  as 
were  all  tasks,  and  rode  on  past  Mrs.  Jane  Selden's  to  the 
house  in  which  he  had  lived  with  his  father  and  mother,  and 
had  lived  with  Jacqueline. 

The  place  had  been  rented  out  since  that  summer  of  1804, 
but  the  tenant,  failing  to  make  payment,  was  gone,  and  for 
some  months  the  house  had  been  vacant.  Rand  and  Selim 
moved  slowly  along  the  old,  old  familiar  way.  Every  stick, 
every  stone,  every  fence-corner  was  known  to  both.  The  man 
let  his  hand  fall  upon  the  brute's  neck.  "We're  going  home, 
Selim,"  he  said.  "We're  going  home." 

It  was  not  now  the  small,  clean  place,  fresh  with  whitewash 
and  bright  with  garden  flowers,  shone  upon  by  the  sun  and 
sung  about  by  birds,  to  which  he  had  brought  Jacqueline. 


460  LEWIS   RAND 

The  tenant  had  been  dull,  and  the  place  was  fallen  into 
disrepair.  In  the  winter  air  and  without  a  leaf  or  flower, 
it  looked  again  as  it  had  looked  when  he  and  Gideon  lived 
there  alone.  He  dismounted,  fastened  Selim  to  the  fence, 
and  entered  by  the  gate  beneath  the  mimosa  tree. 

That  the  mimosa  had  ever  shown  sensitive  leaf  and  mist 
of  rosy  bloom  ranked  now  among  other  impossibilities.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  it  in  silence,  then  walked  up 
the  narrow  path,  mounted  the  porch  steps,  and  tried  the 
door.  It  was  locked,  but  with  an  effort  of  all  his  wasted 
strength  he  burst  it  open  and  so  entered  the  house. 

The  rooms  were  unfurnished  and  forlorn.  He  went  from 
one  to  another,  pausing  in  each  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  gazing  around  as  if  to  replace  in  that  empty  square  the 
objects  of  the  past.  This  progress  made,  he  looked  for  a 
place  to  rest,  but  there  was  neither  chair  nor  bench.  All  was 
bare,  unswept,  and  desolate.  He  went  into  the  kitchen,  for 
he  remembered  the  old  settle  there  upon  the  enormous 
hearth.  That  they  could  not  have  removed,  it  was  too  heavy. 
He  found  it,  took  off  his  riding-coat  and  made  a  pillow  for  his 
head,  then  lay  down  full  length  upon  the  time-darkened 
wood.  He  had  lain  so,  often  and  often,  a  little  boy,  a  larger 
boy,  a  long-limbed,  brooding  youth.  It  had  been  his  refuge 
from  the  fields,  though  hardly  a  refuge  from  his  father. 
Gideon  had  been  always  there,  lounging  in  his  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hearth,  black  pipe  in  hand,  heavy  stick 
beside  him,  revolving  in  his  slow-moving  mind,  there  in  the 
dusk  after  the  day's  work,  tobacco  —  tobacco  —  tobacco  — 
and  how  he  should  keep  Lewis  from  learning.  "It  had  been 
better  if  he  had  succeeded,"  said  Rand  aloud. 

With  Gideon  still  before  his  eyes  he  fell  asleep.  Grim  as 
was  that  figure,  there  was  in  the  vision  of  it  a  strange  sense 
of  protection.  It  was  his  father,  and,  giddy  from  want  of 


THE    IMAGE  461 

sleep,  he  sank  slowly  into  oblivion,  much  as  before  now  he 
had  travelled  there  in  the  other's  presence,  —  travelled  with 
a  gloomy  mind  and  a  body  sore  from  the  latest  beating. 
Now  the  mind  was  full  of  scorpions,  and  the  body  stood  in 
deadly  need  of  sleep.  It  took  it  with  a  strange  reversion  to 
long  gone-by  conditions.  The  thought  of  Gideon's  stick,  the 
feel  of  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  were  with  him  as 
of  yore.  The  difference  was  that  the  man  was  comforted  by 
what  had  been  the  boy's  leaden  cross. 

Exhausted  as  he  was,  he  slept  at  first  heavily,  and  without 
a  dream.  This  state  lasted  for  some  time,  but  eventually  the 
brain  took  up  its  work,  and  the  visions  that  plagued  him 
recommenced.  He  turned,  flung  out  his  arm,  moaned  once 
or  twice,  lay  quiet,  then  presently  gave  a  cry  and  started  up, 
pale  and  trembling,  the  sweat  upon  his  brow.  He  wiped  it 
off,  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath,  and  sat  staring. 

The  kitchen  windows  were  small,  and  half  darkened  by 
their  wooden  shutters.  While  he  slept,  the  day  had  rounded 
into  an  afternoon,  with  more  of  sunshine  than  the  morning 
had  contained.  The  gold  entered  the  room  uncertainly, 
dimly,  filtering  in  by  the  small  apertures  and  striking  across 
to  the  cavernous  fireplace. 

Rand  knew  it  was  but  a  trick  of  the  light  touching  here  and 
there  in  mote-filled  shafts,  —  a  trick  of  the  light  aiding  the 
vagaries  of  an  overwrought  brain.  He  put  forth  his  arm  and 
found  that  it  was  so  —  there  was  no  chair  there  and  no  figure 
seated  in  the  chair.  It  was  a  trick  of  the  light  and  an  effect  of 
imagination,  an  imagination  that  was  hounded,  day  by  day, 
from  depth  to  pinnacle,  from  pinnacle  to  depth,  back  and 
forth  like  a  shuttlecock  in  giant  hands.  No  chair  was  there 
and  no  seated  figure.  He  sank  back  on  the  settle  and  found 
that  he  saw  them  both. 

The  first  sick  leap  of  the  heart  was  past.  What  he  saw,  he 


462  LEWIS   RAND 

knew,  was  a  mere  effect  of  light  and  shadow  and  tragically 
heightened  fancy:  when  he  moved  in  a  certain  direction,  the 
dim  picture  faded,  broke  into  pieces,  was  gone;  but  lean  far 
back  in  the  settle,  look  out  with  eyes  of  one  awakened  from 
a  maze  of  fearful  dreams,  and  there  it  was  again !  He  had  no 
terror  of  it;  what  was  it  at  last  but  the  projection  of  a  face 
and  form  with  which  his  mind  had  long  —  had  long  been 
occupied  ?  It  had  ousted  the  vision  of  his  father;  and  that, 
too,  was  not  strange,  seeing  that,  day  by  day,  the  thought  of 
the  one  —  the  one  —  the  one  had  grown  more  and  yet  more 
insistent.  "Gary,"  said  Rand,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "Gary!" 

The  light  and  shadow  made  no  answer.  Rand  waited, 
gazing  with  some  fixedness,  and  imagination  at  white  heat 
saw  the  head,  the  face,  the  form,  the  quiet  dress,  the  whole 
air  of  the  man,  the  look  within  his  eyes  and  the  smile  upon 
his  lips.  The  figure  sat  at  ease,  as  of  old  it  had  sat  upon  the 
Justice's  Bench  the  day  of  the  election,  as  it  had  sat  beside 
the  bed  in  the  blue  room  at  Fontenoy.  Imagination  laid 
Lewis  Rand  again  in  that  room,  showed  him  the  mandarin 
screen,  the  sunny,  happy  morning,  the  pansies  in  the  bowl. 
"  If,"  he  cried,  —  "  if  I  had  died  then,  I  had  not  died  a  wicked 
man.  Gary  —  Gary  —  Gary!  I  am  in  torment!" 

There  came  no  reply.  Rand  bowed  his  head.  Without,  in 
the  afternoon  sky,  a  cloud  hid  the  sun.  When  the  solitary 
man  in  the  deserted  house  looked  again,  there  were  no  shafts 
of  light,  no  dark  between  to  create  illusion;  all  was  even 
dusk,  forbidding,  grey,  and  cold.  He  rose  from  the  settle  and 
left  the  room  and  the  house.  Selim  whinnied  at  the  gate,  and 
his  master,  coming  swiftly  down  the  path  and  out  of  the  en 
closure,  unknotted  the  reins,  mounted,  and  rode  off  at  speed. 

Rand's  haste  did  not  hold.  Remorse  does  not  necessarily 
break  habit,  and  the  habit  of  his  lifetime  was  attention  to 
detail,  system  in  matters  of  business,  scrupulous  response  to 


THE   IMAGE  463 

the  call  where  he  acknowledged  the  right.  He  drew  rein  at 
Mrs.  Selden's,  dismounted,  and  lifted  the  knocker. 

Cousin  Jane  Selden  herself  met  him  in  the  hall.  "Lewis! 
I  'm  as  glad  to  see  you  as  if  you  brought  the  south  wind ! 
Come  in  to  the  fire,  and  I  '11  ring  for  cake  and  wine.  It  is 
bitter  weather  even  for  January.  All's  well  at  Roselands  ?" 

"All's  well." 

They  entered  the  small  parlour  and  sat  down  before  the 
fire.  "  I  saw  Jacqueline,"  continued  Mrs.  Selden,  "  at  church 
last  Sunday.  I  thought  her  looking  very  badly  —  pale  and 
absent.  I  know,  Lewis  Rand,  that  you  love  each  other 
dearly.  There  has  been  no  quarrel  ?" 

"No  quarrel." 

"I  don't  know,"  quoth  Mrs.  Selden,  "of  which  I'm  most 
sensible  when  it's  in  the  air  —  an  east  wind  or  something 
amiss.  The  wind  's  in  the  north  to-day,  but  the  latter 's  on 
my  mind.  What  is  wrong,  Lewis  ?" 

"My  dear  old  friend,  what  should  be  wrong?" 

"That  is  what  I  asked  you." 

"Then  nothing,"  he  replied,  "nothing  but  the  north  wind. 
Now  about  Carfax — " 

Advice  given  on  the  subject  of  all  dealings  with  Carfax, 
the  adviser  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Mrs.  Selden  removed  her 
spectacles  and  laid  them  in  her  key-basket.  It  was  a  sign 
with  her  that  she  was  about  to  speak  her  mind. 

"Lewis,5'  she  said,  "I  was  a  good  friend  to  you  once." 

"Do  I  not  know  that?"  he  answered.  "The  best  friend 
a  poor  boy  ever  had." 

"No,  not  quite  that — except,  perhaps,  to  help  you  a  little 
with  Jacqueline.  Mr.  Jefferson  was  the  best  friend  a  poor 
boy  ever  had." 

Rand  winced.  "You  say  true.  The  best  friend  a  boy  could 
have.  Give  me  another  glass  of  wine,  and  then  I  '11  go." 


464  LEWIS   RAND 

"A  man  like  that  during  youth  and  a  woman  like  Jacque 
line  for  your  manhood  —  you  have  had  much  to  prop  your 
life." 

"Yes.    Very  much." 

"  Then,"  she  said  sharply,  "  don't  let  it  fall.  Grow  upward, 
Lewis,  like  the  vine  that  gave  its  strength  to  make  this  gen 
erous  wine!  If  you  don't,  you'll  disappoint  your  Maker,  to 
say  nothing  of  some  poor  earthly  friends !  Don't  fall  —  don't 
run  upon  the  earth  like  poison  oak.  You're  meant  for  noble 
uses  —  to  help  your  kind,  and  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  the 
Maker  of  strong  men.  Don't  you  fail  and  fall,  Lewis  Rand ! " 

Rand  paused  before  her.  "How  should  I  help  my  kind, 
now  —  now  ?" 

His  old  friend  looked  at  him  a  little  wonderingly.  "  Do  the 
simple  right,  my  dear,  whatever  it  is  that  you  see  before  you." 

"The  simple  right!  And  to  rejoice  the  heart  of  my  Maker 
-if  I  have  one?" 

"Do  the  right  strongly  and  surely,  Lewis." 

"Whatever  it  is?" 

"Whatever  it  is."  Mrs.  Jane  Selden  looked  at  him  thought 
fully,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  key-basket.  "I'm  only  an 
old  woman  —  just  a  camp-follower  with  an  interest  in  the 
battle.  I  wish  that  you  had  had  a  friend  of  your  own  age  —  a 
man,  and  your  equal  in  power  and  grasp.  Gaudylock  and 
Mocket  and  such  —  they're  well  enough,  but  you're  high 
above  them;  you're  a  sort  of  Emperor  to  them.  Could 
you  but  have  had  such  a  friend,  Lewis  —  a  man  like  the 
Carys— " 

"For  God's  sake,  don't!"  cried  Rand  hoarsely.  He  poured 
out  a  glass  of  wine,  looked  at  it,  and  pushed  it  away.  "I  will 
go  now,  for  there  is  work  waiting  for  me  in  town,  and  at 
home.  Do  as  I  tell  you  about  Carfax.  Good-bye,  good-bye ! " 

Out  upon  the  road,  passing  through  a  strip  of  pine  and 


THE   IMAGE  465 

withered  scrub,  he  raised  his  hand,  and  for  some  moments 
covered  his  eyes.  When  he  dropped  it,  he  saw,  in  the  strong 
purples  of  the  winter  evening,  again  that  misty  figure,  riding 
this  time,  riding  near  him,  not  in  the  road,  but  apparent  in 
the  air  against  and  between  the  tall  trunks  of  pines.  "  Gary," 
he  said  again,  "Gary!" 

There  was  no  response  from  the  figure  in  the  air.  "Gary," 
cried  Rand,  "I  would  we  had  been  friends!" 

Selim  reached  the  open  country;  the  pines  fell  away,  the 
form  was  gone.  Rand  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur  and 
rode  fast  between  brown  stubble-fields  darkening  to  the  hills 
and  to  the  evening  sky.  "Friends,"  he  repeated,  " friends! 
That  would  be  on  terms  of  my  doing  the  simple  right  —  the 
simple  right  after  the  most  complicated  wrong !  Terms !  there 


are  no  terms." 


Leaving  the  fields,  he  rode  down  to  a  stream,  crossed  it, 
and  saw  the  shape  against  a  pale  space  of  evening  sky.  "Is  it 
to  be  always  thus  ?"  he  thought.  "I  would  that  I  had  never 
been  born." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

IN   PURSUIT 

JANUARY  passed  and  February  passed.  Fairfax  Gary, 
riding  for  the  third  time  since  the  New  Year  from 
Malplaquet  toward  Greenwood,  marked  the  blue 
March  sky,  the  pale  brown  catkins  by  the  brooks,  and  the 
white  flowers  of  the  bloodroot  piercing  the  far-spread  carpet 
of  dead  leaves.  He  rode  rapidly,  but  he  paused  at  Forrest's 
forge  and  at  the  mill  below  the  ford.  This  also  he  had  done 
before.  Neither  the  smith  nor  the  men  at  the  mill  knew  the 
idea  that  brought  him  there,  but  they  may  have  thought  —  if 
they  thought  at  all  —  that  he  put  strange  questions.  It  was, 
moreover,  matter  of  regret  to  them,  and  of  much  comment 
when  he  had  passed,  that  Mr.  Fairfax  Gary  had  lost  an  old 
and  well-liked  way  of  making  a  man  laugh  whether  he  would 
or  no.  He  did  n't  jest  any  more ;  he  did  n't  smile  and  flash  out 
something  at  them  fit  to  make  them  hold  their  sides.  He  had 
aged  ten  years  since  September;  he  had  the  high  look  of  the 
Carys,  but  he  was  even  quieter  than  his  brother  had  been  — 
all  the  sparkle  and  play  dashed  out  as  by  a  violent  hand.  The 
smith  and  the  men  at  the  mill  thought  it  a  great  pity,  shook 
their  heads  as  they  looked  after  him,  then  fell  again  to  work, 
or  to  mere  happy  lounging  in  the  first  spring  airs. 

The  lonely  horseman  crossed  the  ford  below  the  mill,  drew 
rein  beneath  the  guide-post,  and  halted  there  for  some  min 
utes,  deep  in  thought.  At  last,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  and 
an  impatient  sigh,  he  spoke  to  Saladin,  and  once  again  they 
took  the  main  road.  "  It  is  the  third  time,"  thought  the  rider. 
"There  is  luck  in  the  third  time." 


IN    PURSUIT  467 

The  quiet  highroad,  wide  and  sunny,  seemed  to  mock 
him,  and  the  torn  white  clouds  sailing  before  the  March  wind 
might  have  been  a  beaten  navy,  carrying  with  it  a  wreck  of 
hope.  The  gusty  air  brought  a  swirl  of  sere  leaves  across 
his  path,  and  the  dust  rose  chokingly.  "  Caw !  caw ! "  sounded 
the  crows  from  a  nearby  field.  The  dust  fell,  the  wind  passed, 
the  road  lay  quiet  and  bright.  "Never!"  said  Gary  between 
his  teeth.  "I  will  never  give  up!" 

Half  an  hour's  riding,  and  he  came  in  sight  of  a  small 
ordinary,  its  low  porch  flush  with  the  road,  a  tall  gum  tree 
standing  sentinel  at  the  back,  and  on  the  porch  steps  a  figure 
which,  on  nearer  approach,  he  recognized  as  that  of  the  inn 
keeper.  He  rode  up,  dismounted,  and  fastened  Saladin  to  the 
horse-rack,  then  walked  up  to  and  greeted  a  weight  of  drowsy 
flesh,  centre  to  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  and  wedded  for  life 
to  the  squat  bottle  and  deep  glass  adorning  the  step  beside  it. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Cross." 

The  innkeeper  stirred,  removed  his  pipe,  steadied  himself 
by  a  hand  upon  the  step,  and  turned  a  dull  red  face  upon  the 
speaker.  "Morning,  Mr.  —  Mr.  Cary!  Which  way  did  you 
come,  sir  ?  I  never  heard  you." 

"I  came  up  from  the  ford.   You  were  asleep,  I  think." 

Mr.  Cross  denied  the  imputation.  "Not  at  this  hour,  sir, 
never  at  this  hour — not  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  sir! 
Later,  maybe,  when  I've  had  my  grog,  I'll  take  my  forty 
winks  — " 

"It  is  not  ten  o'clock.    It  is  nearly  twelve,  Mr.  Cross." 

"Well,  well!"  returned  Mr.  Cross,  whose  face,  blushing 
all  the  time,  showed  at  no  particular  instant  any  particular 
discomfiture.  "I  must  just  have  dropped  off  a  bit.  There's 
little  business  nowadays,  and  a  man  had  better  sleep  than  do 
worse  I  What  '11  you  have,  sir  ?  I  '11  call  my  girl  Sally  to  serve 
you." 


468  LEWIS   RAND 

"Nothing  at  the  moment,  Mr.  Cross."  Gary  sat  down 
upon  the  step  beside  the  other.  "I  stopped  here  a  month 
ago- 

"You  did,"  answered  the  innkeeper.  "You  stopped  in 
January,  too,  did  n't  you  ?" 

"Yes.    In  January." 

"I  remember  plain.  You  wanted  to  know  this  and  you 
wanted  to  know  that,  but  you  certainly  treated  me  hand 
some,  sir,  and  I  'm  far  from  grudging  you  any  information 
Joe  Cross  can  give ! " 

"We  will  go  back  to  the  same  subject,"  said  Cary.  "Any 
recompense  in  my  power  to  make  I  should  consider  but  your 
due,  Mr.  Cross,  could  you  tell  me  —  could  you  tell  me  what 
I  want  to  know." 

He  had  spoken  at  first  guardedly,  but  at  last  with  an  irre 
sistible  burst  of  feeling.  The  innkeeper  looked  at  him  with 
dull  wonder.  "I'd  do  anything  to  oblige  ye,  Mr.  Cary,  I 
certainly  would!  But  when  we  come  to  talking  about  the 
road,  and  who  goes  by,  and  who  does  n't  go  by,  and  about 
the  seventh  of  September,  and  was  n't  I  asleep  and  dreaming 
just  before  the  big  storm  broke?  —  why,  I  say,  sir,  No!  I 
don't  think  I  was.  'Tween  man  and  man,  Mr.  Cary,  I  don't 
mind  telling  your  father's  son,  sir,  that  't  is  possible  I  might 
ha'  had  a  drop  more  than  usual,  and  ha'  been  asleep  earlier! 
But  I  wasn't  asleep  when  the  negro  spoke  to  me.  *  Hit's 
gwine  ter  be  an  awful  storm,'  says  he,  just  that  way,  just  as  if 
he  were  lonesome  and  frightened.  His  voice  came  to  me  as 
plain  as  my  hand,  and  I  know  the  mare  he  was  riding.  *  Hit 's 
gwine  ter  be  an  awful  storm,'  says  he  — " 

"The  other  —  the  other!"  exclaimed  Cary  impatiently. 
"It  is  the  other  I  would  know  of!" 

"I  told  you  before,  and  I  tell  you  now,"  replied  Mr. 
Cross,  "that  I  don't  seem  somehow  clearly  to  remember 


IN   PURSUIT  469 

what  the  other  said.  I  '11  take  my  oath  that  he  said  some 
thing,  for  he 's  one  that  don't  miss  speaking  to  a  voter  when 
he  finds  him!  It's  just  slipped  my  mind  —  things  act  some 
times  as  though  there  was  a  fog,  —  but  I  was  n't  drunk  and 
I  was  n't  asleep.  No,  sir!  no  more  than  I  was  just  now  when 
you  come  up  and  spoke  to  me  —  and  it  don't  stand  to  rea 
son,  sir,  that  I  could  ha'  seen  two  horses  instead  of  one!" 

Gary,  sitting  moodily  attentive,  chin  in  hand,  and  his  eyes 
upon  the  sunny  road,  started  violently.  "Two  horses  instead 
of  one/'  he  repeated,  with  a  catch  of  the  breath.  In  a  mo 
ment  he  was  upon  his  feet,  and  the  innkeeper,  had  he  looked 
up  and  had  he  been  less  blear-eyed  and  dull,  might  have  seen 
an  approach  to  the  old  Fairfax  Gary  —  colour  in  cheek  and 
light  in  eye. 

"I  am  your  debtor,  Mr.  Cross.  That's  it  —  that's  pre 
cisely  it!  You  heard  it  asserted  by  all  around  you  that  he 
had  gone  by,  and  your  keen  mind  arrived  at  the  same  con 
clusion.  You  saw  and  heard  —  in  a  fog  —  the  negro  boy, 
and  later  on  your  strong  imagination  provided  him  with  a 
companion.  Just  that  —  you  thought  you  saw  two  where 
there  was  but  one !  I  'm  your  servant,  Mr.  Cross,  your  very 
humble,  very  obliged  servant!" 

He  drew  out  his  purse,  abstracted  from  it  all  the  gold  it 
contained,  and  gently  slid  the  pieces  into  the  hand  which 
happened  to  rest  upon  the  steps  in  an  apt  position  for  their 
reception.  "A  trifle  of  drink-money,  Mr.  Cross!  If  I  might 
suggest  a  toast,  I  would  have  you  drink  to  the  next  Gov 
ernor  of  Virginia !  Good-day,  Mr.  Cross,  good-day!  I  think 
I  begin  to  remember." 

He  mounted  and  rode  away.  "  I  begin  to  remember  —  I 
begin  to  remember.  The  boy  and  I  were  not  always  together 
upon  the  main  road !  Did  we  part  at  the  guide-post  ?  Then 
where  did  we  come  together  again  ? " 


470  LEWIS   RAND 

He  rode  through  March  wind  and  sun,  by  fields  where  men 
were  ploughing  and  copses  where  the  bloodroot  bloomed, 
beneath  the  branches  of  a  great  blasted  oak,  and  past  a  red 
bank  shelving  down  to  the  road  from  the  forest  above,  then 
on  by  Red  Fields,  and  so  at  last  into  Charlottesville.  Here  he 
turned  at  once  to  the  office  of  an  agent  and  man  of  business 
much  respected  in  Albemarle. 

Mr.  Smith  rubbed  his  hands  and  asked  what  he  could 
do  for  Mr.  Gary  —  who  was  looking  well,  extremely  well! 
"Spring  is  here,  sir,  spring  is  here!  We  all  feel  it.  On  a  day 
like  this  I  cultivate  my  garden,  sir!" 

"I  also,"  said  Gary.  "Mr.  Smith,  my  affair  is  short.  I 
will  thank  you  to  keep  it  secret  also.  I  want  to  buy,  if  possible, 
a  negro  boy  called  Young  Isham,  who  is  owned  by  Lewis 
Rand.  You  may  offer  any  price,  but  my  name  is  not  to  ap 
pear.  Manage  it  skilfully,  Mr.  Smith,  but  manage  it!  I 
have  reasons  for  wishing  to  own  the  boy.  You  will  bear  it  in 
mind  that  my  name  is  not  to  appear  as  purchaser." 

An  hour  later,  nearing  the  Greenwood  gates,  he  saw  before 
him  another  horseman,  bent  from  the  saddle  and  engaged 
with  the  fastening.  Gary  rode  up.  "Ned  Hunter,  is  it  you  ? 
Why,  man,  I  have  not  seen  you  this  long  while !  Where  have 
you  been  in  hiding?" 

"I  have  visited,"  answered  Mr.  Hunter,  "New  York  and 
the  Eastern  Shore.  You  are  looking  well,  Gary;  better  than 
you  did  at  Christmas.  I  was  in  this  quarter,  and  so  I  thought 
I  would  stop  at  Greenwood." 

The  two  rode  together  up  the  hill,  beneath  the  arching 
oaks.  The  servants  appeared,  the  horses  were  taken,  and 
Gary  and  his  guest  entered  the  quiet  old  house.  A  little  later, 
in  the  drawing-room,  over  a  blazing  fire  and  a  bottle  of  wine, 
Mr.  Hunter  laid  aside  a  somewhat  quaint  air  of  injured 
dignity,  and  condescended  to  speak  of  Fontenoy  and  of  how 


IN  PURSUIT  471 

very  changed  it  was  since  the  old  days.  "Nothing  like  so 
bright,  sir,  nothing  like  so  bright !  I  have  not  thought  Miss 
Dandridge  looking  cheerful  for  more  than  a  year  —  and  she 
used  to  be  the  gayest  thing !  always  smiling,  and  with  some 
thing  witty  to  say  every  time  I  came  near!  I  hate  changes. 
This  is  good  wine,  Gary." 

"Yes.  I  do  not,  on  the  whole,  think  Fontenoy  so  changed." 

"  Don't  you  ?  I  do.  Well,  well,  it  is  not  the  only  place  that 
has  changed !  You  've  no  sign  yet,  have  you,  Gary,  of  the 
murderer  ? " 

"He  still  goes  free." 

"If  there's  a  man  in  the  county  that  I  dislike,"  remarked 
Mr.  Hunter,  "it  is  Lewis  Rand.  But  if  he  had  taken  the  river 
road  that  day  as  he  said  he  should,  he  and  your  brother 
might  have  travelled  together,  and  the  two  would  have  been 
a  match  for  the  damned  gypsy,  or  whoever  it  was,  that  shot 
Mr.  Gary.  Have  you  ever  noticed  what  little  things  make 
all  the  difference  ?  Shall  I  pour  for  you,  too  ? " 

"As  he  said  he  should.  How  do  you  know  that  he  said  he 
should?" 

"Why,  he  and  I  slept  the  night  of  the  sixth  of  September  at 
the  Cross  Roads  Inn — " 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  one  gets  strange  housemates  at  an  inn.  Well,  after 
supper  I  went  out  on  the  porch  and  began  calling  to  the  dogs, 
and  he  was  there  sitting  on  the  steps  in  the  dusk.  The  wind 
was  blowing,  and  there  were  fireflies,  and  the  dogs  were  jump 
ing  up  and  down.  'Down,  Rover!'  said  I,  'Down,  Di! 
Down,  Vixen !'  And  then  Rand  and  I  talked  a  bit,  and  I  said 
to  him,  'The  river  road's  bad,  but  it's  much  the  shortest." 

"What,"  demanded  Gary, in  a  strained  voice,  —  "what  did 
he  answer  ? " 

"He  answered,  'I  shall  take  the  river  road.'" 


472  LEWIS   RAND 

Mr.  Hunter  helped  himself  to  wine.  "I  was  tired,  and  he 
was  tired,  and  I  did  n't  like  him  anyway,  and  was  n't  inter 
ested,  so  I  went  on  calling  to  the  dogs,  and  we  did  n't  speak 
again.  He  and  his  negro  boy  went  on  at  dawn,  and  he  took, 
after  all,  the  main  road.  He  is  n't,"  finished  Mr.  Hunter, 
"the  kind  of  person  you  think  of  as  changeable,  and  it's  a 
thousand  pities  he  did  n't  hold  to  his  first  idea !  Things  might 
have  been  different." 

Gary  rose  from  the  table.  "Would  you  swear,  Hunter,  to 
what  he  said  ? " 

"Why,  certainly — before  all  the  justices  in  Virginia.  I 
don't  believe,"  said  Mr.  Hunter,  "that  my  parents  could  have 
had  good  memories,  for  somehow  things  slip  away  from  me 
—  but  when  I  do  remember,  Gary,  I  remember  for  all  time!" 
He  drank  his  wine  and  looked  around  him.  "I  have  n't  been 
in  this  room,  I  don't  believe,  for  five  years !  That  was  before 
it  was  all  done  over  like  this.  What  a  lot  of  Carys  you've 
got  hanging  on  the  walls  —  and  just  one  left  to  sit  and  look  at 
them !  You  have  n't  a  portrait  of  your  brother  ? " 

"No.  Not  upon  the  walls.  If  you're  not  fatigued,  would 
you  object  to  riding  with  me  to  West  Hill  ?  That 's  the  near 
est  justice." 

"I  'm  not  at  all  fatigued.  But  I  can't  see  what  you  want  it 
taken  down  for — " 

"Perhaps  not,"  answered  Gary  patiently;  "  but  you'll 
swear  to  it,  all  the  same  ? " 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Hunter,  "I  can  have  no  possible  objec 
tion  to  seeing  my  words  in  black  and  white.  I  '11  take  another 
glass,  and  then  I  '11  ride  with  you  wherever  you  like." 

At  sundown  Fairfax  Gary,  returning  to  Greenwood  alone, 
gave  his  horse  to  Eli,  and  presently  entered  the  library.  It 
was  a  dim  old  room,  unrenewed  and  unimproved,  but  the 
two  brothers  had  loved  and  frequented  it.  Now,  in  the 


IN   PURSUIT  473 

March  sunset,  with  the  fire  upon  the  hearth,  with  the  dogs 
that  had  entered  with  the  master,  the  shadowy  corners,  and 
many  books,  it  had  an  aspect  both  rough  and  gracious.  It 
was  a  room  in  which  to  remember,  and  it  had  an  air  favour 
able  to  resolve. 

The  last  of  the  Greenwood  Carys  walked  to  the  western 
window  and  stood  looking  out  and  up.  He  looked  from  a 
hill-top,  but  the  summit  upon  which  lay  the  Gary  burying- 
ground  was  higher  yet.  The  flat  stones  did  not  show,  nor  the 
wild  tangle  of  dark  vine,  but  the  trees  stood  sharp  and  black 
against  the  vivid  sky.  Gary  stood  motionless,  a  hand  on  either 
side  of  the  window  frame.  The  colour  faded  from  the  sky, 
and  there  set  in  the  iron  grey  of  twilight.  He  left  the  window, 
called  for  candles,  and  when  they  had  been  brought,  sat 
down  at  the  heavy  table  and  began  to  draw  a  map  of  the 
country  between  the  ford  and  Red  Fields. 

Three  days  later  he  rode  into  Charlottesville  and  stopped 
at  the  office  of  Mr.  Smith,  whom  he  found  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  watching  from  a  chair  planted  in  the  sunshine  the 
springing  of  a  line  of  bulbs.  "You  see,  sir,"  quoth  the  agent, 
"I  cultivate  my  garden!  Tulips  here,  crocus  there,  yonder 
hyacinths.  Red  Chalice  has  been  up  two  days,  and  my  white 
Amazon  peeped  out  of  the  earth  yesterday.  King  Midas  and 
Sulphur  and  Madame  Mere  are  on  the  way.  Well,  Mr.  Gary, 
I  tried  my  level  best  with  that  commission  of  yours,  and  I 
failed!  The  boy  is  not  for  sale." 

"Ah!"  said  Gary,  and  stooped  to  examine  the  white 
Amazon.  "I  hardly  expected,  Mr.  Smith,  that  he  would  be 
for  sale.  At  no  price,  I  presume?" 

"At  no  price.  He  is  one  of  the  house  servants,  and  his 
master  is  attached  to  him.  I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

His  client  rose  from  the  contemplation  of  the  springing 
hyacinth.  "Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  Mr.  Smith.  I  am 


474  LEWIS   RAND 

not  disappointed.  There  are  reasons,  no  doubt,  why  Mr. 
Rand  declines  to  part  with  him.  Let  us  put  it  out  of  mind. 
What  a  bright  little  garden  you  will  have,  sir,  when  tulip, 
crocus,  and  hyacinth  are  all  in  bloom ! " 

He  took  his  leave,  and  rode  homeward  through  the  keen 
March  weather.  "I  am  beginning  to  remember  quite 
plainly,"  he  said.  "Presently  I'll  know  it  like  an  old  re 
frain  —  every  word,  Saladin,  every  word,  every  word,  down 
to  the  last  black  one." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE    SIMPLE    RIGHT 

AN  important  case  in  a  neighbouring  county  called 
Lewis  Rand  from  home,  and  kept  him  an  April  week 
in  the  court  room  or  in  a  small  town's  untidy  tavern. 
It  was  his  habit,  known  and  deferred  to,  never  to  accept  at 
such  times  the  hospitality  sure  to  be  pressed  upon  him.  The 
prominent  men  of  his  party  urged  him  home  with  them,  but 
accepted  his  refusal  with  a  nod  of  understanding,  and  rode 
off  strong  in  the  conviction  that  a  man  so  absorbed,  so  given 
over  to  watching  and  guarding  his  client's  interests,  was 
assuredly  a  man  to  be  relied  upon  in  any  litigation.  A  great 
lawyer  was  like  a  great  general  —  headquarters  on  the  field. 
As  for  Lewis  Rand  and  the  next  election  —  if  he  wanted  to  be 
Governor  of  Virginia,  men  who  heard  him  in  the  court  room 
were  not  the  ones  to  say  him  nay!  To  a  rational  man  his 
genius  vindicated  his  birth.  If  he  wanted  the  post,  and  if  it 
was  to  the  interest  of  the  state,  in  God's  name  let  him  have 
it  —  old  Gideon  to  the  contrary ! 

Rand  won  the  case,  and  turned  Selim's  head  toward  Al- 
bemarle.  There  had  been  a  weary  half  day  of  thanks  and 
protestations,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  dull  relief  when  the 
last  house  was  left  behind,  when  the  cultivated  fields  fell 
away,  and  the  Virginian  forest,  still  so  dominant  in  the  land 
scape,  opened  its  dark  arms  and  drew  him  in. 

He  rode  slowly  now,  with  drooping  head.  Young  Isham, 
some  yards  behind,  almost  went  to  sleep  in  his  saddle,  so  drag 
ging  was  the  tread  the  mare  must  follow.  The  dark  aisle  of 
the  forest  led  presently  through  a  gorge  where  the  woods 


476 


LEWIS   RAND 


were  in  effect  primeval.  Upon  the  one  hand  rose  a  bank,  thick 
with  delicate  moss  and  fern  and  shaded  by  birch  and  ash;  on 
the  other  the  ravine  fell  precipitously  to  hidden  water,  and 
was  choked  by  towering  pine  and  hemlock.  The  air  was 
heavy,  cool,  and  dank,  the  sunshine  entering  sparsely.  The 
place  was,  however,  a  haunt  of  birds,  and  now  a  wood  robin 
answered  its  mate. 

Rand  rode  more  and  more  slowly.  The  way  was  narrow, 
but  here  and  there,  between  it  and  the  bank,  appeared  grey 
boulders  sunk  in  all  the  fairy  growth  of  early  spring.  He 
drew  rein,  bared  his  head,  and  looked  about  him,  then  dis 
mounted  and  spoke  to  Young  Isham,  coming  up  behind. 
"I  will  sit  here  a  little  and  rest,  Young  Isham.  Take  Selim 
with  you  around  the  turn  and  wait  for  me  there.  I  'm  tired, 
tired,  tired!" 

The  negro  obeyed,  and  the  master  was  left  alone.  Beside 
the  road,  beneath  the  mossy  bank,  lay  a  great  fallen  rock. 
Rand  flung  himself  down  upon  this,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  re 
membered  a  river-bank,  a  sycamore,  and  a  rock  upon  which 
a  boy  of  fourteen  had  lain  and  watched,  coming  over  the 
hill-top,  distinct  against  the  sunset  sky,  the  god  from  the 
machine.  It  was  such  a  stone  as  this,  and  it  was  seventeen 
years  ago.  "Seventeen  years.  And  a  thousand  years  in 
Thy  sight—  " 

The  past  weeks  had  seen  a  change  in  the  condition  of  his 
brain.  He  was  yet  all  but  sleepless,  and  the  physical  strain 
had  weakened  his  frame  and  sharpened  his  features,  but  the 
sheer  force  of  the  man,  asserting  itself,  had  put  down  the 
first  wild  inner  tumult.  Imagination  was  not  now  whipped  to 
giddy  heights;  it  kept  a  full,  dark  level.  When,  at  long  inter 
vals,  he  slept,  it  was  to  dream,  but  not  so  dreadfully.  He  had 
no  more  visions  such  as  had  haunted  him  in  January.  The 
thought  of  Gary  was  with  him,  full  and  deep,  a  clean  and 


THE   SIMPLE   RIGHT  477 

bitter  agony,  but  he  saw  him  no  more  save  with  the  eye  of  the 
mind.  He  was  as  rational  as  a  sleepless  man  with  a  murder 
on  his  soul  might  well  be,  and  he  suffered  as  he  had  hardly 
suffered  before. 

With  his  face  buried  in  his  arms  he  lay  very  still  upon 
the  rock.  He  lay  in  shadow,  but  the  sunlight  was  on  the  tree- 
tops  above  him.  The  wood  robin  yet  uttered  its  bell-like  note, 
the  moist  wind  brought  down  the  bank  the  fragrance  of  the 
fringe  tree  to  blend  with  the  deeper  odour  of  the  pine  and 
hemlock.  Rand  lay  without  moving,  the  fingers  of  one  out 
stretched  hand  clenched  upon  the  edges  of  the  rock.  "A 
thousand  years  in  Thy  sight  —  and  my  day  is  as  a  thousand 
years.  Oh,  my  God!" 

The  minutes  passed,  deep  and  grave,  slow  and  full,  with 
the  sense  of  afternoon,  of  solemn  and  trackless  woods,  un- 
breathed  air,  silence  and  high  heaven,  then  the  April  wind 
swept  up  the  gorge  and  brought  the  sound  of  water.  Rand 
sat  up,  resting  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  stared  down  the 
shadowy  steep.  There  were  flowers  growing  close  to  him, 
violets  and  anemones,  and  on  a  ledge  of  rock  above,  the 
maiden-hair  fern.  His  eyes  falling  upon  them,  they  brought 
to  his  mind,  suddenly  and  sadly  enough,  Deb  and  her  flower 
ladies,  all  in  a  ring  beneath  the  cedars  —  Faith  and  Hope  and 
Charity,  Ruth  and  Esther  and  the  Shulamite. 

The  recollection  of  that  morning  was  followed  by  a  thought 
of  the  night  before  —  of  the  Fontenoy  drawing-room  and  of 
all  who  had  been  gathered  there.  He  saw  the  place  again,  and 
he  saw  every  figure  within  it — the  two  Churchills,  the  two 
Carys,  Unity,  Jacqueline.  "There  is  not  one,"  he  thought, 
"to  whom  I  Ve  worked  no  harm.  All  that  I  have  touched,  I 
have  withered." 

The  wind  again  rushed  up  the  gorge,  a  great  stir  of  air  that 
swayed  the  trees,  and  filled  the  ravine  with  a  sound  like  the 


478  LEWIS  RAND 

sea.  Rand  listened  dully,  staring  down  the  steeps  of  pine  and 
hemlock,  giant  trees  that  had  dwelt  there  long.  A  desolation 
came  upon  him.  The  air  appeared  to  darken  and  grow  cold, 
the  wind  passed,  and  the  gorge  lay  very  still.  Rand  bowed 
himself  together,  and  at  last,  with  a  dull  and  heavy  throb,  his 
heart  spoke.  "What  shall  I  do,"  it  asked,  "O  God?" 

The  Absolute  within  him  made  answer.  "The  simple 
right." 

The  wind  returned,  and  the  trees  of  the  forest  shook  to  the 
blast.  The  simple  right!  Where  was  the  simple  right  in  so 
complex  a  wrong  ?  Step  forward,  backward,  to  either  side 
-harm  and  misery  everyway!  And  pride,  and  ambition, 
and  love,  and  human  company  —  to  close  the  door,  to  close 
the  door  on  all!  "No,"  said  Rand,  and  set  his  teeth.  "No, 
no!" 

The  afternoon  deepened  in  the  gorge  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 
Now  the  wind  swept  it  and  now  the  wind  was  still.  The  sun 
light  touched  the  treetops,  or  fell  through  in  shafts  upon  the 
early  flowers.  From  the  mould  of  a  million  generations  stalk 
and  leaf  arose  for  their  brief  hour  of  light  and  life.  When 
it  was  spent,  they  would  rest  for  an  aeon,  then  stir  again.  In 
the  silence  was  heard  the  fall  of  the  pine  cone. 

Rand  lay,  face  down,  upon  the  rock.  In  his  mind  there  was 
now  no  thought  of  Gary,  no  thought  of  Jacqueline,  nor  of 
Fairfax  Gary,  nor  of  any  other  of  the  dead  and  living.  It  was 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  and  his  soul  was  at  grips 
with  Apollyon. 

He  lay  there  until  all  the  sunlight  was  withdrawn  from  the 
gorge,  and  until  Young  Isham,  frightened  into  disobedience, 
came  and  touched  him  upon  the  shoulder.  He  lifted  a  grey 
and  twisted  face.  "Yes,  yes,  Young  Isham,  it  is  late!  Go 
back,  and  I  will  come  in  a  moment." 

The  negro  went,  and  Rand  arose  from  the  rock,  crossed 


THE  SIMPLE  RIGHT  479 

the  road,  and  stood  looking  down  toward  the  hidden  water. 
From  somewhere  out  of  the  green  gloom  sounded  the  bird's 
throbbing  note,  then  all  again  was  quiet,  dank,  and  still.  He 
raised  his  arms,  resting  them  and  his  face  upon  them  against 
the  red  bark  of  a  giant  pine.  The  thought  of  death  in  the 
pool  below  came  to  him,  but  he  shook  his  head.  The  door 
was  open,  truly,  but  it  led  nowhere.  His  soul  looked  at  the 
chasm  it  must  cross,  shuddered,  and  crossed  it.  His  arms 
dropped  from  the  tree  and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  blue 
above.  He  was  yet  in  a  land  of  effort  and  anguish,  but  the 
god  within  him  saw  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

M.    DE   PINCORNET 

MALPLAQUET  was  a  Gary  place,  leagued  in  friend 
ship  as  in  blood  with  Greenwood.  For  seven 
months  it  had  esteemed  itself  in  mourning  for  the 
kinsman  who  had  ridden  from  its  gates  to  a  violent  death. 
But  there  were  young  girls  in  the  house,  and  now,  in  the 
bright  May  weather,  it  was  hard  not  to  put  forth  leaf  and 
bud  and  be  gay  once  more.  Actual  gayety  would  not  do,  the 
place  felt  that,  and  very  heartily;  but  pleasure  that  was 
also  education,  pleasure  well  within  bounds,  and  education 
insisted  upon,  this  might  now  be  temperately  indulged  in. 
There  seemed  no  good  reason  why,  in  mid-spring,  the  dan 
cing  class  should  not  be  held  at  Malplaquet,  since  it  was  the 
most  convenient  house  to  a  large  neighbourhood,  and  there 
were  in  the  family  three  young  girls. 

The  age  esteemed  dancing  a  highly  necessary  accomplish 
ment,  and  its  acquisition  meant  work,  and  hard  work,  no 
less  than  delightful  play.  Half  a  dozen  young  people  came 
to  stay  three  days  at  the  house;  half  a  score  more  drove  or 
rode  over  in  the  afternoons,  going  home  after  ten  by  moon 
light  or  by  starlight.  Their  elders  came  with  them;  it  was  a 
business  of  minuets  and  contra-dances,  painstakingly  per 
formed  and  solicitously  watched.  A  large  old  parlour  gave 
its  waxed  floor,  Mr.  Pincornet's  violin  furnished  the  music, 
and  Mr.  Pincornet  himself,  lately  returned  to  Albemarle 
from  his  season  in  Richmond,  imparted  instruction  and  di 
rected  the  dance.  The  house  was  full  from  garret  to  cellar, 
neighbours'  horses  in  the  stables,  neighbours'  servants  in  the 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  481 

quarter.  The  long,  low  brick  office  standing  under  the  big 
oaks  in  the  yard  made,  according  to  custom,  a  barracks  for 
the  young  men  who,  high  of  mettle,  bold,  and  gay,  rode  in 
from  twenty  miles  around,  ready  to  dance  from  dusk  till 
dawn,  and  then,  in  a  bright  garden  and  May  weather,  to 
pursue  some  bits  of  muslin  throughout  a  morning.  Mal- 
plaquet  was  in  a  state  of  sober  glee  when,  inconveniently 
enough,  the  one  Gary  whose  mourning  had  not  lightened 
chanced,  in  ignorance  of  the  dancing  class,  to  ride  through 
the  gates  and  up  the  hill. 

It  was  his  intention,  it  appeared,  to  spend  the  night  which 
was  fast  falling,  and  to  ride  back  to  Charlottesville  in  the 
morning.  The  head  of  the  Malplaquet  Carys  met  him  with 
affection  and  apology.  "Young  people  will  be  young,  Fair, 
and  Molly  and  I  thought  it  best  to  humour  them  in  this 
no  great  thing!  It's  a  mere  lesson  they're  having.  But 
I  'm  sorry,  cousin  - 

"You  need  not  be,  sir,"  said  the  other.  "Ludwell  would 
have  been  the  last  man  on  earth  to  wish  their  spirit  less,  or 
their  pleasure  less.  It's  time  and  the  weather,  sir,  —  Mal 
plaquet  feels  it  with  all  the  world.  You  must  not  be  troubled, 
and  you  must  not  disturb  my  cousins.  I  might  ride  on  — " 

"No,  no,  Fair!    No,  no!" 

"Then  I  won't.  Give  me  a  room  in  the  office  —  I  see  the 
house  is  full  —  and  let  Remus  bring  me  supper  there.  If 
you  '11  come  over  later,  sir,  we  '11  talk  Embargo,  and  I  '11  give 
you  the  up-county  news.  I  '11  to  bed  early,  I  think." 

"I  wish  I  could  come!  By  George,  it  would  be  a  relief  to 
get  away  from  all  the  bowing  and  scraping!  You're  sure 
you  are  n't  hurt,  Fair  ? " 

"Quite  sure,"  answered  the  other,  with  his  old  smile. 
"  I  '11  go  now  to  the  office,  if  I  may.  No  need  even  to  tell  them 
I  am  here." 


482  LEWIS   RAND 

Not  to  tell  them  was  a  thing  more  easily  said  than  done. 
Time  was  when  Fairfax  Gary  would  have  been  hailed  delight 
edly,  drawn  at  once  to  the  centre  of  things,  and  kept  there  by 
the  quick  glances  of  young  women,  the  emulative  gaze  of 
neighbourhood  gallants,  and  the  approving  consideration  of 
the  elder  folk.  His  presence  was  wont  to  make  itself  felt. 
Now,  when  the  news  spread  that  he  was  at  Malplaquet,  there 
was  a  break  in  the  dance,  a  pause,  a  hush.  "What  shall  we 
do  ?"  asked  in  distress  the  daughters  of  the  house. 

"Go  on  dancing,"  was  the  reply.  "He'll  have  no  differ 
ence  made.  But  when  the  lesson  's  over,  you  '11  remember, 
one  and  all,  that  he  is  here." 

In  the  far  room  of  the  office,  quiet,  and  with  a  porch  of  its 
own,  Gary  got  rid  of  the  dust  of  the  road,  then  ate  the  supper, 
bountiful  and  delicate,  brought  by  Remus  and  presided  over 
by  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  talked  to  him  of  Green 
wood  and  of  his  father.  "The  best  dancer,  Fair,  and,  after 
Henry  Churchill,  the  handsomest  man,  —  with  the  air,  you 
know,  and  always  brave  and  gay  and  true  as  steel!  They 
said  he  was  a  good  hater,  and  I  know  he  was  a  good  friend. 
You  take  after  him,  Fair." 

"Ludwell  did/' 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know  —  but  you  the  most.  Ludwell  had 
much  from  your  mother  —  that  strength  and  patience  and 
grace  were  Lucy  Meade's.  Well,  well,  I  cry  when  I  think  of 
it,  so  I  '11  not  think !  Is  there  nothing  more  you  '11  have  ? 
Remus  is  to  wait  upon  you  —  you  hear,  Remus  ?  And  now, 
Fair,  I'll  go  back  to  the  children." 

Gary  kissed  her.  "Give  them  all  three  my  love,  and  tell 
little  Anne  to  mind  her  steps.  I  've  got  a  book  to  read,  and 
I'll  go  to  bed  early." 

He  sat  over  his  book  until  nearly  ten,  then  extinguished 
his  candles  and  stepped  out  upon  the  small,  moonlit  porch. 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  483 

From  the  house,  a  hundred  yards  away,  came  the  sound  of 
the  violin,  and  of  laughter,  subdued  but  genuine.  Gary  drew 
a  chair  to  the  porch  railing  and  sat  down,  resting  his  elbow 
upon  the  wood,  his  cheek  upon  his  hand.  The  violin  brought 
the  thought  of  Unity.  The  laughter  did  not  grate  upon  him. 
His  nature  was  large,  and  the  mirth  at  Malplaquet  did  no 
unkindness  as  it  meant  none.  He  sat  there  quietly  until  the 
music  stopped  and  the  lesson  came  to  an  end.  The  pupils 
not  staying  overnight  went  away,  as  testified  the  sound  of 
wheel  and  stamp  of  hoof,  the  laughing  voices  and  lingering 
good-byes,  audible  from  the  front  of  the  house.  This  noise 
died,  then,  after  an  interval,  lights  appeared  in  upper  win 
dows.  Slender  arms  and  hands,  put  far  out,  drew  to  the 
wooden  shutters;  clear,  girlish  voices  said  good-night,  and 
were  answered  by  fervent  and  deeper  tones  below. 

The  quiet  proper  to  the  hour  drew  on,  the  lighted  windows 
darkened  one  by  one,  and  presently  there  appeared  at  the 
office  the  master  of  the  house,  accompanied  by  two  or  three 
young  men.  These  greeted  Gary  soberly,  but  with  much 
kindness.  "We've  put,"  said  the  host,  "all  the  talkative 
rattlepates  away  in  the  house,  and  given  you  three  sensible 
men !  Mr.  Bland  has  the  room  at  the  other  end,  Jack  Minor 
and  Nelson  the  one  next  to  him,  and  in  the  little  room  beside 
yours,  Fair,  we'll  stow  Mr.  Pincornet.  They've  all  danced 
themselves  tired,  and  the  whole  place  is  to  have  a  quiet 
night."  The  three  sensible  men  went,  after  a  little,  to  their 
several  quarters,  and  the  kinsman  continued:  "The  class 
ends  to-night,  Fair.  To-morrow  morning  all  go  away  except 
the  Elands  and  the  Morrises  and  George  Harvie's  little 
Dorothea.  The  house  will  be  quiet,  and  you  are  not  to  ride 
away  from  us  in  the  morning !  Good-night  —  God  bless 
you!" 

Gary,  left  alone,  watched  the  lights  go  out  in  the  rooms  of 


484  LEWIS   RAND 

Mr.  Bland,  Mr.  Minor,  and  Mr.  Nelson.  He  thought,  "1 
will  go  to  bed  and  go  to  sleep";  then,  so  bright  was  the 
moonlight,  so  sweet  and  fragrant  and  now  silent  the  night, 
that  he  stayed  on  upon  the  little  porch,  his  arms  against  the 
railing,  his  eyes  now  on  the  moon,  now  on  the  quiet  great 
house  and  the  shadowy  clumps  of  trees.  Presently  Mr. 
Pincornet,  the  moon  whitening  his  old  brocade  and  his 
curled  wig,  came  from  the  house,  crossed  the  grass,  and 
mounted  to  the  porch  upon  which  his  small  room  opened. 

He  started  as  he  saw  the  figure  by  the  railing.  "Who  is 
it?"  he  demanded,  in  his  high,  cracked  voice;  then,  "Ah,  I 
see,  I  see !  A  thousand  pardons,  Mr.  Gary,  - 

"We  are  to  be  neighbours  to-night,"  said  Gary.  "It  has 
been  long  since  we  met,  Mr.  Pincornet.  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again." 

"I  have  been  in  Richmond,"  said  the  dancing  master, 
"since  —  since  September." 

Gary  touched  a  chair  near  him  with  a  gesture  of  invitation. 
"Won't  you  sit  down  ?  It  is  too  beautiful  a  night  to  go  early 
to  bed,  and  I  do  not  think  we  will  disturb  the  others'  slum 
bers.  But  perhaps  you  are  tired  - 

"The  practice  of  my  art  does  not  tire  me,"  answered  Mr. 
Pincornet.  "  I  will  watch  the  moon  with  you  for  as  long  as 
you  please.  We  had  nights  such  as  this  near  Aire,  when  I 
was  young." 

He  sat  down,  leaning  his  chin  upon  his  beruffled  hand.  The 
light  falling  full  on  his  companion  showed  the  dark  dress  and 
above  it  the  quiet,  much  altered  face.  Mr.  Pincornet  sighed, 
and  tapped  nervously  upon  the  railing  with  the  fingers  of  his 
other  hand.  "  Mr.  Gary,  I  have  not  seen  you  since  —  Pray 
accept  my  profound  condolences,  my  sympathy,  and  my  ad 


miration." 


His  old  pupil  thanked  him.    "All  my  brother's  friends 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  485 

and  mine  are  most  kind.  I  should  guess  that  you  have  your 
self  seen  many  sorrows,  Mr.  Pincornet." 

The  Frenchman's  face  twitched.  "  Many,  sir,  many.  I  have 
experienced  the  curse  of  fortune.  Eh  bien  !  one  pays,  and  all 
is  said !  I  have  grieved  with  you,  sir,  I  beg  you  to  believe 
it.  I  admired  your  brother." 

"He  was  worthy  of  admiration." 

"  In  the  south,  near  Mauleon,  I  lost  such  an  one  —  brother 
not  in  blood  but  in  friendship,  a  friendship  pure  as  the 
flowers  of  spring  and  strong  as  the  vintage  of  autumn.  His 
own  troops  turned  Jacobin  and  scoundrel,  mutinied,  shot 
him  down  —  Ha!"  Mr.  Pincornet  drew  out  his  box  and  took 
snuff  with  trembling  fingers.  "Well!  the  King's  side  was 
uppermost  for  a  while  down  there,  and  we  had  our  revenge  — 
we  had  our  revenge  — we  had  our  revenge!  But,"  he  ended 
sadly,  "it  could  not  bring  back  my  poor  Charles." 

"Did  you  think  of  it  as  revenge  ?" 

"No.  I  thought  of  it  as  justice.  It  was  that,  sir.  Those 
soldiers  paid,  but  they  owed  the  debt  —  every  sou  they  owed 
it!  He  was,"  continued  Mr.  Pincornet,  "gallant  and  brave, 
a  great  lover,  a  great  fighter.  He  was  to  my  heart,  though  not 
of  my  blood  — 

"The  man  that  I  have  lost,"  said  Gary,  "was  of  my  blood 
and  to  my  heart.  I  am  left  alone  of  an  old  house.  And  I  pur 
sue  justice,  Mr.  Pincornet,  I  pursue  justice,  I  pursue  justice." 

Mr.  Pincornet  looked  at  the  face  opposite  him.  "I  think, 
sir,  you  will  capture  that  to  which  you  give  chase.  I  have 
been  in  town,  away  from  the  country,  but  I  hear  the  talk, 
and  sometimes  I  read  the  papers.  You  have  not  taken  the 
murderer  ? " 

"No." 

"It  is  strange!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "And  no  one  sus 
pected?" 


486  LEWIS   RAND 

"I  suspect,"  answered  Gary  sternly,  "but  the  world. in 
general  does  not,  or  suspects  wrongly.  You  were  not  at  the 
inquest  which  was  held  ?" 

The  dancing  master  shook  his  head.  "In  your  sorrow,  sir, 
such  matters  were,  naturally,  not  brought  to  your  notice. 
I  fell  ill,  in  the  first  days  of  September,  at  Red  Fields,  of  a 
cold  upon  the  lungs.  I  gave  up  my  art  and  lay  at  death's 
door.  My  head  was  light;  I  heard  and  I  thought  of  nothing 
but  the  faces  and  the  voices  around  about  Aire  where  I  was 
young.  I  recovered,  and,  in  the  stage,  I  went  to  Richmond. 
To  ask  who  is  it  you  suspect  would  be  a  question  indis 


creet—" 


Gary  sat  with  his  eyes  upon  the  dark  azure  above  the  tree- 
tops.  "Not  yet,"  he  said,  in  a  brooding  voice;  "I  have  him 
not  yet.  Did  you,  Mr.  Pincornet,  have  any  scruple  when 
you  took  vengeance,  near  Mauieon  ? " 

"None,  sir!  I  served  justice.  Soldiers  are  not  levied  to 
murder  at  once  their  faith  and  their  officers.  No  more  scru 
ple  than  is  yours  in  hunting  down  the  wild  beast  that  killed 
your  brother!  You  have  my  wishes  there  for  a  good  hunt- 
ing!" 

The  Ancien  Regime  put  up  his  snuffbox  and  brushed  the 
fallen  grains  from  his  old,  old  red  brocade.  "What  a  night 
for  music  and  for  love !  The  road  down  yonder  —  it  is  like 
the  silver  ribbon  they  wear  —  they  wore  —  at  court!" 

"The  road  —  the  road!"  exclaimed  Gary.  "I  travel  it  in 
my  sleep.  It  haunts  me  as  I  haunt  it.  I  know  all  its  long 
stretches,  all  its  turns  -  '  He  sighed,  and  moved  so  as  to 
face  the  whitened  ribbon. 

"You  ride,"  said  the  dancing  master;  "but,  for  my  own 
convenience,  I  go  afoot,  and  it  is  probable  that  I  know  it 
best." 

They  sat  gazing  down  past  garden  and  hillside  to  the  still 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  487 

highway.  "  I  have  not  walked  upon  it,  however,"  continued 
Mr.  Pincornet  reflectively,  "since  September.  I  then  went 
afoot  from  Clover  Hill  to  Red  Fields,  where  I  was  taken  ill. 
It  was  the  seventh  of  September." 

"The  seventh  of  September!" 

"I  remember  the  day,"  continued  Mr.  Pincornet,  "be 
cause  I  sat  down  under  a  tree  beside  the  road  to  rest,  and  I 
had  an  almanac  in  my  pocket." 

"You  remember  it  by  nothing  else?" 

"Why,  by  one  thing  more,"  answered  the  other.  "I  sat 
there,  my  head  on  my  hand,  perhaps  thinking  of  nothing, 
perhaps  thinking  of  France  —  an  empty  road  and  in  the  sky 
black  clouds  —  when  suddenly  —  what  do  you  say  ?  — 
clatter,  crash  !  through  the  wood  opposite  and  down  a  tall 
red  bank  to  the  road  came  another  pupil  of  mine  — 

"Yes?"  said  Gary.    "Who?" 

"Mr.  Lewis  Rand." 

Something  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  slight  sound.  It  was  the 
book  that  had  rested  upon  Gary's  crossed  knee.  He  stooped 
and  picked  it  up,  then,  straightening  himself,  looked  again 
at  the  silver  ribbon.  "Black  clouds  in  the  sky,"  he  said,  in 
a  curious  voice,  "and  the  seventh  of  September,  M.  de 
Pincornet  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "by  the  almanac.  That  was 
two  days,  was  it  not,  before  your  brother's  death  ?" 

"My  brother,  sir,  was  murdered  upon  the  seventh  of 
September." 

"The  seventh !  The  ninth !  You  mean  the  ninth !  I  heard  it 
so  when  I  recovered  — " 

"You  heard  it  wrongly.    It  was  the  seventh." 

There  was  a  silence;  then,  "Indeed,"  said  the  dancing 
master,  in  a  curious  dry  and  shocked  voice.  "The  seventh. 
At  what  hour  ? " 


488  LEWIS   RAND 

"It  is  not  known.  Perhaps  about  midday,  perhaps  a  little 
later  —  when  there  were  black  clouds  in  the  sky." 

The  silence  fell  again,  hard  and  full  of  meaning,  then  Gary 
leaned  forward  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  other's  arm. 
"I've  hunted  long  alone,  now  we'll  hunt  for  a  moment 
together!  Tell  me  again." 

"He  came  down  the  bank  in  a  great  noise  and  rolling  of 
stone  and  earth.  There  were  thick  woods  on  the  top  of  the 
bank.  He  came  out  of  them  like  Pluto  out  of  the  earth  - 

"He  was  alone?" 

"Alone.  But  he  had  a  negro  waiting  for  him  down  the 
road." 

"He  told  you  that?" 

"  I  left  my  tree  and  we  talked  a  little.  He  was  torn,  he  was 
breathless.  He  explained  that  he  had  started  a  doe  and  had 
followed  through  the  woods.  He  left  me  and  went  down  the 
road  to  meet  his  negro.  They  passed  me,  and  when  I  came  to 
Red  Fields,  I  was  told  they  had  paused  there.  I  said  nothing 
of  our  meeting.  I  was  very  tired  and  the  storm  was  breaking. 
Before  it  was  over  I  was  hot  and  cold  and  shaking  and  ill  in 
my  bed.  I  was  ill,  as  I  have  told  you,  for  a  long  time.  The 
ninth!  I  always  thought  it  was  the  ninth  — " 

"Would  you  know  again  the  place  where  this  chase  oc 
curred?" 

"He  came  down  the  bank  opposite  the  blasted  oak." 

"Ah!"  breathed  Gary;  then,  after  a  moment,  "I  stopped 
my  horse  beneath  that  tree  this  morning,  and  my  eyes  rested 
upon  that  red  bank.  And  I  did  not  know!  We  are  very 
blind."  He  rose.  "Will  you  come  indoors,  sir?  I  wish  to 
light  the  candles  again." 

They  entered  the  small  bedroom.  Gary  lighted  the  candles, 
placed  them  upon  the  table,  and  closed  the  shutters  of  the  one 
window.  From  the  breast  of  his  riding-coat  he  took  a  rolled 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  489 

paper.  "This  is  a  map  of  the  country  below  Red  Fields. 
I  made  it  myself.  Now  let  us  see,  sir,  let  us  see!" 

He  pinned  the  map  down  with  ink-well,  sand-box,  book, 
and  candlestick,  which  done,  the  two  bent  over  it.  "Call  it," 
said  Gary,  "  a  military  map  of  your  country  near  Mauleon. 
Now,  sir,  look !  Here  is  what  a  man  did." 

The  demonstration  proceeded,  and  it  was  carried  out  with 
keenness  and  with  a  very  fair  approach  to  accuracy.  "  Here  is 
Malplaquet,  which  one  passes  about  nine  in  the  morning, 
and  there  by  the  candlestick  is  Red  Fields,  certainly  on  the 
main  road  and  certainly  paused  at  by"  —  he  glanced  aside 
at  the  other's  face-  "by  the  murderer,  M.  de  Pincornet! 
Now  let  us  mark  this  fox  that  doubles  on  himself." 

The  long,  curled  wig  of  the  Frenchman  and  the  younger 
man's  handsome  head  with  the  hair  gathered  back  into  a 
black  ribbon  bent  lower  over  the  map.  "  Forrest's  forge,  the 
mill,  the  ford,  he  passed  these  places  under  such  and  such 
circumstances  —  here,  where  I  rest  the  pen,  stands  the  guide- 
post.  This  line  is  your  silvered  ribbon,  this  is  the  main  road 
that  makes  a  sweep  around  the  broken  country.  This  heavy, 
black,  and  jagged  line  is  the  river  road.  They  both  took  the 
river  road,  as  both  had  said  they  would  —  my  brother  to  me, 
the  murderer  to  a  man  at  the  Cross  Roads  Inn.  The  negro 
boy  kept  on  by  the  main  road.  Where  is  this  riven  oak  ?" 
He  dipped  the  quill  into  the  ink-well.  "  I  correct  my  map 
according  to  my  better  knowledge.  That  tree  stands  two 
miles  below  Red  Fields,  just  above  the  turn  where,  fifty  years 
ago,  was  the  Indian  ambush.  We'll  mark  it  here,  black  and 
charred.  Here  is  the  bank,  crowned  by  woods.  The  growth 
is  very  thick  between  it  and"  —  his  hand,  holding  the  pen, 
travelled  across  the  sheet-  "the  river  road  just  east  of 
Indian  Run." 

He  laid  down  the  pen,  and  turned  from  the  table  to  the 


490  LEWIS   RAND 

open  door.  "The  moon  is  not  bright  enough,  or  I  would  go 
to-night.  I  want  sunlight, or  I  want  storm-light,  for  that  ride 
across  from  road  to  road !  Five  hours  till  morning."  He  re 
turned  to  the  dancing  master.  "When,  in  your  country,  the 
man  you  loved  was  to  be  avenged,  and  his  murderers  pun 
ished,  you  were  glad  of  aid,  were  you  not  ?  I  shall  be  thankful 
for  every  least  thing  that  you  can  tell  me." 

"He  came,"  said  the  emigre,  "like  Pluto  out  of  the  earth. 
He  was  breathless  as  one  out  of  prison  —  his  linen  was 
torn.  There  was,"  the  narrator's  voice  halted,  then  hardened 
in  tone,  —  "there  was  blood  upon  his  sleeve.  At  the  time  I 
supposed  that,  in  bursting  through  that  grille  of  the  forest, 
branch  or  briar  had  drawn  it.  There  was  blood,  sir,  about 
your  brother  ?" 

"Yes.  If  the  murderer  stooped  to  know  if  life  was  out,  it 
might  have  happened  so." 

"He  was  not  pale,  I  think,  but  he  spoke  in  a  strange 
voice.  'Ha!'  he  said,  'I  started  a  doe  ten  minutes  since, 
and  gave  her  chase  through  the  wood.  Now  I  will  rejoin 
my  boy  a  little  way  down  the  road.  Are  you  on  your  way  to 
Charlottesville  ?'  I  told  him  I  would  go  to  Red  Fields,  upon 
which  he  said  adieu  and  turned  his  horse.  A  little  later  he 
and  his  boy  passed  me,  riding  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  under 
black  skies."  The  dancing  master  raised  a  glass  of  water 
that  was  upon  the  table  and  moistened  his  lips.  "This, 
Mr.  Gary,  is  all  my  aid.  I  admired  your  brother,  and  there  is, 
sir,  a  something  about  you  that  returns  Charles  to  my  mem 
ory.  If  it  pleases  you,  and  if  our  host  will  lend  me  a  horse, 
I  will  ride  with  you  in  the  morning,  as  far  at  least  as  the  oak 
and  that  red  bank  down  which  he  came." 

"I  accept  your  offer,  sir,"  answered  the  other,  "with  grat 
itude.  You  did  not  chance  to  notice  his  holsters  ?" 

"No  —  except  that  his  saddle  had  holsters.    I  have  seen 


M.  DE  PINCORNET  491 

his  pistols.    I  saw  them  one  night  at  Monticello.    He  told 
me  that  they  were  a  gift  from  his  patron." 

"Yes.  They  were  given  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  the  other's 
name  is  upon  them.  Moreover,  he  travelled  armed  from 
Richmond  to  Roselands.  I  acquired  that  knowledge  in  the 
autumn.  I  would  that  iron  could  speak  —  if  it  could,  and  if 
human  effort  be  of  avail,  I  would  yet  have  those  pistols  in 
my  holding!" 

He  took  the  map  from  the  table,  rolled  it  up,  and  restored 
it  to  its  place.  "It  grows  late,"  he  said.  "Let  us  to  bed  and  to 
sleep.  It  is  the  eve  of  a  decisive  engagement,  M.  de  Pincornet. 
If  you'll  permit  me,  I  will  call  you  at  five.  Remus  shall  make 
us  coffee,  and  we  '11  make  free  with  a  horse  for  you  from  the 
stables.  Then  the  road  again!  but  this  time  I  go  no  farther 
than  the  ford,  on  that  white  ribbon  yonder.  You  shall  keep 
the  highroad,  but  I  will  take  the  river  road,  and  yet  I  '11  hold 
tryst  with  you  beneath  that  riven  oak  ! "  He  began  to  put  out 
the  candles.  "I  shall  sleep  and  sleep  well  until  dawn,  and  I 
wish  for  you,  sir,  as  good  a  night.  For  the  aid  which  you  have 
given  me,  I  am  most  heartily  your  servant." 

Alone  in  the  little  room,  he  straightened,  mechanically,  the 
objects  upon  the  table,  paced  for  a  time  or  two  the  narrow, 
cell-like  place,  then  went  out  again  upon  the  porch  and  stood 
with  his  hands  on  the  railing,  and  his  eyes  raised  to  the  white 
moon,  full  and  serene  in  the  cloudless  night.  "For  without," 
he  said,  "are  dogs  and  sorcerers  and  murderers  and  who 
soever  loveth  and  maketh  a  lie."  He  stood  for  a  long  while 
without  movement,  but  at  last  let  fall  his  hands,  turned,  and 
went  indoors.  When,  a  little  later,  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
bed  and  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  he  found  that  it  was 
wet  with  tears.  He  spoke  aloud,  though  hardly  above  his 
breath.  "No,  Ludwell,  no!  In  this  sole  thing  I  am  right. 
It  is  not  revenge.  I  am  not  vindictive,  I  am  not  revengeful. 


492  LEWIS   RAND 

This  is  justice,  and  I  can  no  other  than  pursue  it.  Itwill 
not  grieve  you  where  you  are."  He  turned  and  buried  his 
face  in  the  pillow.  "  O  brother  —  O  friend  - 

The  emotion  passed  and  he  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling, 
reconstructing  midday  of  September  the  seventh  beside 
Indian  Run. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

UNITY    AND    JACQUELINE 

THE  library  at  Fontenoy  lay  west  and  north.  In  the 
afternoon  the  sun  struck  through  the  windows  and 
through  the  glass  door,  brightening  the  tall  clock- 
face,  the  faint  gilt  and  brown  of  old  books,  and  the  portrait 
of  Henry  Churchill  with  the  swords  crossed  beneath.  Upon 
the  forenoon  in  question,  and  even  though  the  month  was 
May,  the  room  looked  a  sombre  place,  chill  and  dusk,  shaded 
and  grave  as  a  hermit's  cell. 

In  the  great  chair  upon  the  hearth  sat  Colonel  Churchill, 
somewhat  bowed  together  and  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  By 
the  window  stood  Major  Edward,  very  upright,  very  meagre, 
soldierly,  and  grey.  The  northern  light  was  upon  him;  with 
his  pinned-up  sleeve  and  lifted  head  he  looked  a  figure  of  old 
defeats  and  indomitable  mind.  From  the  middle  of  the  room 
Fairfax  Cary  faced  both  the  Churchills. 

In  his  dark  riding-dress,  standing  with  his  gloved  hand 
upon  the  table,  he  gave  in  look  and  attitude  a  suggestion  of 
formality,  a  subtle  conveyance  of  determination.  He  had  been 
speaking,  and  now,  after  an  interruption  from  one  of  the 
brothers,  he  continued.  "That  was  two  weeks  ago.  I  have 
it  clear,  and  I  have  my  witness.  The  murderer,  leaving  the 
body  of  my  brother  beside  Indian  Run,  turned  his  horse,  and, 
at  a  point  just  east  of  the  rock  where  grows  the  mountain  ash, 
he  quitted  the  road  for  the  mountain-side.  It  is  desperate 
riding  over  that  ridge,  but  he  made  it  as,  two  weeks  ago,  I 
made  it,  and  he  came  out,  as  I  came  out,  upon  the  high 
bank  above  the  main  road,  a  few  yards  below  the  blasted 


494  LEWIS   RAND 

oak.  That,  Colonel  Churchill,  is  what  he  did,  and  what  a 
jury  shall  see  that  he  did." 

Colonel  Dick  let  fall  his  hand.  "Fair,  Fair,  I  never  gain 
said  that  he  was  a  villain  — 

"He  appeared,"  continued  the  younger  man,  "before  my 
witness,  torn  and  breathless.  There  was  blood  upon  his 
sleeve.  Now  see  what  he  does.  He  rejoins  his  negro,  and,  if 
I  know  my  man,  he  intimidates  this  boy  into  silence  like  the 
grave.  Together  they  pause  at  Red  Fields,  a  precaution  that 
quite  naturally  suggests  itself  to  the  lawyer  mind.  But  it  is 
in  the  gloom  of  the  storm,  and  he  does  not  dismount  —  a 
course  which,  again,  he  knows  to  be  wise.  Apparently  Red 
Fields  notices  nothing.  He  rides  on.  But  he  has  yet  to  pass 
through  town,  to  be  accosted  here,  there,  at  the  Eagle,  the 
post-office,  to  be  forced,  perhaps,  under  peril  of  his  refusal 
being  scanned,  to  get  down  from  his  horse,  answer  questions, 
drink  and  talk  with  acquaintances.  He  is  torn,  dishevelled. 
There  is  blood  upon  his  sleeve.  What  does  he  think  as  he 
rides  from  Red  Fields?  He  thinks,  ' Where  can  I  best  put 
myself  in  order,  and  remove  this  witness  ?'  That  would  be 
his  thought,  and  he  would  have  the  answer  ready.  He  rode  on 
to  the  edge  of  town,  and  there  he  stopped  at  Tom  Mocket's." 

Major  Edward  left  the  window.  As  he  passed  his  brother, 
he  laid  for  a  moment  his  hand  upon  the  elder's  shoulder. 
The  touch  was  protective,  almost  tender.  "It's  a  rough 
wind,  Dick  !  Bow  your  head  and  let  it  go  over."  He  marched 
away,  dragged  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  sat  down.  "Very 
well,"  he  said.  "He  stopped  at  Tom  Mocket's." 

"Yes,  but  not  merely  at  the  gate,  as  he  testified.  He 
went  into  the  house,  and  there  he  washed  the  blood-stain 
from  his  sleeve." 

"Can  you  prove  that?" 

"I  can  prove  that  he  went  into  the  house.  A  negro,  run- 


UNITY   AND  JACQUELINE  495 

ning  from  the  storm,  saw  him  enter.  When  that  girl  —  Vinie 
Mocket  —  is  put  upon  the  stand,  I  expect  to  prove  the  re 
mainder.  Now,  the  pistol — " 

Colonel  Dick  rose,  walked  heavily  to  the  glass  door,  then 
back  to  the  hearth.  "  You  stand  there,  as  I  have  seen  your 
father  stand.  Well,  go  on!  We  are  men,  Edward  and  I." 

"  His  pistols  are  handsome  ones,  the  gift  of  Mr.  Jefferson. 
The  murderer's  name  is  engraved  upon  them.  He  has  made, 
since  September,  a  number  of  journeys,  and  he  travels  always 
with  holsters  to  his  saddle.  Well,  not  long  ago,  I  bribed  the 
hostler  of  a  tavern  where  I  knew  he  was  to  sleep.  I  have  seen 
the  arms  he  carries.  Two  holsters,  two  pistols  —  but  the 
latter  do  not  match !  A  different  maker,  a  heavier  weight,  and 
the  owner's  name  but  indifferently  etched.  And  yet  there  is  in 
Richmond  a  man  who  will  swear  to  Mr.  Rand's  leaving  town 
with  the  President's  gift  intact !  The  inference  is,  I  think,  that 
somewhere  between  Indian  Run  and  Roselands  the  weapon 
vanished  —  how  and  when  and  where  I  have  yet  to  find.  I 
expect  to  recover  it,  and  in  the  mean  time  I  expect  to  force 
an  explanation  of  those  mismatched  pistols." 

He  had  been  standing  without  motion  —  manner,  voice, 
and  attitude  restrained  and  somewhat  formal.  He  now 
moved,  took  his  hand  from  the  table,  and  folded  his  arms. 
"I  came,"  he  said,  "to  tell  you,  Colonel  Churchill,  and  you, 
Major  Edward,  you  who  were  my  brother's  friends  and  my 
father's  friends,  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  apply  for  and 
obtain  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Lewis  Rand." 

The  words  fell  heavily,  and  when  they  were  spoken,  there 
was  a  silence  in  the  library.  Major  Edward  broke  it.  "You 
are  determined,  and  I  waste  no  breath  in  challenging  the 
inevitable.  So  be  it!  The  child  will  come  home  to  us,  Dick." 

The  elder  brother  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and 
paused  before  the  picture  of  Henry  Churchill.  When  at  last 


496  LEWIS   RAND 

he  turned,  his  ruddy  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  wet.  "Henry 
was  a  proud  man.  We  grow  old,  and  we  grow  to  be  thankful 
that  the  dead  are  dead !  Well,  Edward,  well !  we  've  weathered 
much  —  I  reckon  we  can  weather  more."  He  halted  at  the 
glass  door  and  stared  out  into  the  flowering  garden.  "My 
little  Jack!"  he  muttered,  and  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

Gary  spoke  from  where  he  yet  stood  beside  the  table.  "  I 
am  aware  —  how  can  I  be  other  than  aware  ?  —  of  the  sor 
row  and  anxiety  which  I  bring  upon  this  house.  As  regards 
myself,  you  have  but  to  indicate  your  wishes,  sir.  I  will  come 
no  more  to  Fontenoy,  if  my  coming  is  unwelcome.  One  in 
terest  here  I  confidently  entrust  to  your  generosity.  For  the 
rest  I  will  bow  to  your  decision.  If  you  tell  me  so,  sir,  I  will 
come  no  more  —  though  Fontenoy  is  well  nigh  as  dear  to  me 
as  Greenwood,  and  though  I  love  and  honour  every  inmate 
here." 

His  voice  broke  a  little.  There  was  a  silence,  then  Colo 
nel  Dick  swung  around  from  the  glass  door.  "Don't  talk 
damned  nonsense,  Fair,"  he  said  gruffly. 

Major  Edward  spoke  from  the  old  green  chair.  "We'll 
bring  no  unnecessary  factors  into  this  business,  Fairfax.  I 
don't  conceive  that  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  quarrel.  It  is  not 
you  who  have  wrought  the  harm  —  that  burden  rests  else 
where.  Have  you  seen  Unity?" 

"No,  sir."   ' 

"Then  we  had  better  send  for  her."  The  Major  rose  and 
pulled  the  bell-rope.  "Some  one  must  go  to  Roselands. 
When  do  you  propose  to  act?" 

"Very  soon,  sir.  Almost  at  once.  I  anticipate  no  resistance 
and  no  flight.  I'll  give  him  his  due.  He  is  bold  and  he  is 
ready,  and  the  court  room  is  his  chosen  field,  where  his  gods 
fight  for  him.  He'll  give  battle." 

The  last  of  the  Greenwood  Carys  moved  from  his  place, 


UNITY   AND   JACQUELINE  497 

walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  there  in  the  light  from  the 
north.  "  Before  Unity  comes,  sir,  there  is  something  I  would 
like  to  say.  It  pertains  to  myself.  You  have  known  me,  both 
of  you,  all  my  life,  and  you  knew  my  father  before  me.  You 
know  what  my  brother  was  to  me  —  brother,  guardian, 
friend.  You  two  have  lived  your  life  together;  think,  each  of 
you,  how  bitter  now  would  be  the  other's  loss.  What  if  all 
was  yet  youth  and  fire  and  promise  —  and  a  villain  struck 
one  down,  put  out  life  at  a  blow,  and  denied  the  deed ! 
Denied!  went  on  with  trumpets  to  place  and  honour!  What 
would  you  do,  Colonel  Churchill,  or  you,  Major  Edward  ? 
You  would  do  as  I  have  done,  and  you  would  weigh  no 
circumstance,  as  I  have  weighed  none.  Moreover,  right  is 
right,  and  law  and  justice  must  not  curtsy  even  to  pity  for 
the  innocent  and  tenderness  for  those  who  suffer !  It  is  right 
that  this  man  should  feel  the  hand  of  Justice.  And  I  can  see 
it  as  no  other  than  right  that  I  —  when  all  her  paid  soldiers 
failed  —  should  have  taken  it  on  myself  to  bring  him  there, 
before  her  bar.  It  is  this  which  I  shall  do,  and  the  end  is  not 
with  me,  but  with  right  and  law  and  order,  with  the  weal  of 
society,  yes,  and  with  the  man's  own  proper  reaping  of  the 
harvest  which  he  sowed  !  Else  he  also  is  monstrous,  and  there 
is  nothing  not  awry."  He  paused,  made  a  slight  and  dignified 
gesture  with  his  hands,  and  went  on.  "I  have  done  that 
which  I  had  to  do.  I  abide  the  consequences.  But  it  is  hard 
to  bring  trouble  on  you  here,  and  to  bring  great  trouble  on  — 
on  one  other.  I  wish  you  to  know  that,  though  I  go  my  way, 
I  go  with  a  pained  and  heavy  heart." 

He  broke  off,  and  stood  with  his  eyes  upon  the  younger  oi 
the  two  brothers;  then,  after  a  moment  and  with  a  note  of 
appeal  in  his  voice,  "  Major  Edward  - 

Major  Edward  raised  his  hawk  eyes  and  resolute  face. 
"Trouble  enough,  yes,  heavy  trouble  —  but  I  should  have 


498  LEWIS   RAND 

done  as  you  have  done !  It  is  all  in  the  great  battle,  Fair. 
We'll  be  friends  still,  Fontenoy  and  Greenwood.  There  is 
Unity  at  the  door." 

From  the  Fontenoy  coach  Unity,  who  had  not  been  to 
Roselands  since  December,  regarded  the  quiet  old  place 
through  a  sudden  mist  of  tears.  The  driveway  from  the  gate 
was  sunk  in  green;  a  hundred  trees  kept  the  place  secluded, 
sylvan,  and  still.  Hardly  any  bloom  appeared,  —  the  flowers 
were  all  in  the  quiet  garden  hidden  by  the  house,  —  but 
through  a  small  open  space  could  be  seen  the  giant  beech 
tree  by  the  doorstone. 

Unity  dried  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  bit  her 
lips  until  they  were  red  again.  "If  you're  nothing  but  a  bird 
of  omen,"  she  said  to  herself,  "at  least  you  need  n't  show  it! 
Oh,  this  world!"  then,  "What  if  he  is  not  from  home  ?" 

In  the  early  winter  she  had  advanced  several  pretexts 
for  not  troubling  Roselands,  had  found  them  accepted  by 
Jacqueline  with  an  utter  lack  of  comment,  and  had  ceased  to 
make  them.  She  kept  away,  and  her  cousin  made  no  com 
plaint.  What  pretext,  now,  she  wondered,  would  serve  to  ex 
plain  this  visit  ?  She  thought  that  pretext  would  be  needed 
at  first  —  just  at  first.  And  what  if  Lewis  Rand  were  at 
home  ? 

He  was  not  at  home.  Jacqueline  met  her  upon  the  great 
doorstone,  kissed  her,  and  held  her  hand,  but  made  no  ex 
clamation  of  surprise  and  asked  no  questions.  The  coach 
and  four,  with  old  Philip  and  Mingo,  rolled  away  to  the 
stable,  and  the  cousins  entered  the  cool,  wide  hall.  "You  will 
lay  aside  your  bonnet?"  said  Jacqueline.  "Such  a  lovely 
bonnet,  Unity!  —  and  your  blue  lutestring!  Come  to  my 


room." 


In  the  chamber  Unity  untied  her  blue  bonnet-strings  and 


UNITY   AND  JACQUELINE  499 

laid  the  huge  scoop  of  straw  upon  the  white  counterpane; 
then,  at  the  mirror,  slowly  drew  off  her  long  gloves,  and  took 
from  her  silken  bag  her  small  handkerchief.  The  action 
of  her  hands,  now  deliberate,  now  hurried,  was  strange  for 
Unity,  whose  habit  it  was  to  be  light  and  sure.  "Do  you 
remember,"  she  asked,  with  her  face  still  to  the  mirror,  — 
"  do  you  remember  the  last  time  I  wore  this  gown  ? " 

"You wore  it/'  said  Jacqueline,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "to 
church,  in  August  —  to  Saint  John's." 

"Yes.  That  Sunday  when  all  the  world  was  there.  I  smell 
the  honeysuckle  again,  and  hear  FitzWhyllson's  viol !  That 
was  our  last  old,  happy  day  together." 

"Was  it?" 

"Yes,  it  was.  The  very  next  day  the  world  seemed  some 
how  to  change." 

"Isn't  that  a  way  the  world  has?"  asked  Jacqueline. 
"Change  and  change  and  change  again  — " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Unity,  "but  never  to  the  same,  never  to 
the  same  again  — " 

A  silence  fell  in  the  room  that  was  all  flowered  chintz. 
Unity,  raising  her  eyes  to  the  glass,  saw  within  it  her  cousin 
where  she  leaned  against  a  chair — saw  the  face,  the  eyes,  the 
lips  —  saw  the  mask  off.  Unity  gasped,  wheeled,  ran  to  the 
chair,  and,  falling  on  her  knees  beside  it,  clasped  her  cousin 
in  her  arms.  "O  Jacqueline!  O  Jacqueline,  Jacqueline!" 

Jacqueline  rested  her  hands  upon  the  other's  shoulders. 
"Why  did  you  come  to-day,  Unity  ?  The  last  time  was  De 
cember." 

"I  came  —  I  came"  —  sobbed  Unity,  "just  to  bring  you 
their  love  —  Uncle  Dick's  and  Uncle  Edward's  and  Aunt 
Nancy's  —  and  to  say  that  Fontenoy  is  still  home,  and  — 
and—" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jacqueline.  "  But  this  is  my  home  now,  Unity. 


500  LEWIS   RAND 

It  has  been"  —  she  raised  her  arms  —  "it  has  been  my  home 
for  many  and  many  a  day !  You  may  tell  them  that ;  you  may 
tell  it  to  Fairfax  Gary." 

"Don't  —  don't  think  of  him  as  an  enemy!" 
"I  think  of  him  as  he  is.    What  is  the  message,  Unity  ?" 
"I  have  none  —  I  have  none,"  cried  Unity,  "except  that 
whatever  happens  —  whatever  happens,  Jacqueline,  you  are 
the  darling  of  us  all  —  of  the  old  home  and  Uncle  Dick  and 
Uncle  Edward  and  Aunt  Nancy  and  Deb  and  me  and  all  the 
servants!   There  is  none  at  Fontenoy  that  does  not  love  and 
honour  you !   Think  of  us,  and  come  to  us  - 
"When?  When,  Unity?" 

Unity  rose.  "Now,  if  you  will,  darling  —  dearest — " 
Jacqueline  smiled.  "Now?  When  you  are  married,  you 
will  find  that  you  cannot  leave  home  so  easily."  She  crossed 
the  bedroom  floor  to  a  window,  and  stood  with  her  hands  on 
either  side  of  the  casement,  and  with  her  face  lifted  to  the 
pure  blue  heaven. 

Unity  waited  with  held  breath.  "She  knows  —  she 
knows,"  said  her  beating  heart. 

Jacqueline  came  back  to  the  middle  of  the  room.  "Thank 
them  for  me,  Unity,  and  tell  them  that  I  cannot  leave  my 
husband  now."  Her  touch,  clay-cold  and  fluttering,  fell  upon 
her  cousin's  arm.  "There  are  wisdom  and  goodness  in  the 
world,  and  they  wish  to  see  things  rightly,  if  only  they  had  the 
power.  Tell  them  at  Fontenoy,  and  tell  Fairfax  Gary,  too, 
that  they  have  not  altogether  understood  !  Even  he  —  even 
the  one  who  is  dead  —  did  not  quite  do  that,  though  he  came 
more  nearly  than  any.  It  is  my  hope  and  my  belief  that  now 
he  understands,  forgives,  and  sees  —  and  sees  the  dawn  in 
the  land!" 

She  raised  her  head,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was 
exquisite.  No  longer  wan,  she  stood  as  though  the  flush  of 


UNITY   AND   JACQUELINE  501 

dawn  were  upon  her.  It  paled,  and  the  air  of  tragedy  en 
folded  her  again,  but  the  light  had  been  there,  and  it  left  her 
majestic.  The  grace  within  her  and  the  sweetness  were 
unfailing.  She  came  now  to  her  cousin,  put  an  arm  around 
her,  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  "You  love  truly,  too," 
she  whispered.  "When  trouble  comes,  you'll  understand  — 
you'll  understand!" 

Unity  held  her  to  her  and  wept.  "O  Jacqueline!  —  O 
Jacqueline!" 

"You  put  on  the  blue  gown  to  remind  me,  did  n't  you  ?" 
asked  Jacqueline.  "I  did  n't  need  any  reminding,  dear.  It  is 
all  with  me,  all  the  old,  frank,  happy  days;  all  the  time  when 
I  was  a  girl  and  we  used  to  sit,  just  you  and  I,  by  my  window 
and  watch  the  stars  come  out  between  the  fir  branches !  And 
I  love  you  all,  every  one  of  you.  And  I  do  not  blame  Fairfax 
Gary.  It  is  destiny,  I  think,  with  us  all.  But  I  want  you  to 
know  —  and  you  can  tell  them  that,  too,  —  that  there  is 
one  whom  I  love  beyond  every  one  else,  beyond  life,  death, 
fear,  anguish,  meeting,  and  parting.  Loving  him  so,  and  not 
despairing  of  a  life  to  come  when  we  are  all  washed  clean, 
my  dear,  when  we  are  all  washed  clean  - 

Her  voice  broke  and  she  moved  again  to  the  window.  The 
clock  ticked,  the  sun  came  dazzling  in,  a  fly  buzzed  against 
the  pane.  Jacqueline  turned.  "Tell  them  that  they  are  all 
dear  to  me,  but  that  my  home  is  here  with  my  husband.  Tell 
them  that  Lewis  Rand  —  that  Lewis  Rand  "  She  put  her 
hands  to  her  breast.  "No.  I  have  not  power  to  tell  you  that 
-  not  yet,  not  yet !  But  this  I  say  —  my  uncles  were  soldiers, 
and  they  fought  bravely  and  witnessed  much,  but  I  have  seen 
a  battlefield  "  She  shuddered  strongly  and  brought  her 
hands  together  as  if  to  wring  them,  then  let  them  fall  instead 
and  turned  upon  her  cousin  a  face  colourless  but  almost 
smiling.  "  It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  what  pain  we  grow  to  call 


502  LEWIS   RAND 

Victory.   Let's  talk  of  it  no  more,  Unity."   She  caressed  the 
other's  hand,  raised  it  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  it. 

"I  did  not  come  to  stay,"  said  Unity  brokenly.   "You  had 

rather  be  alone.   The  evening  is  falling  and  they  look  for  me 

at  home.  When  you  call  me,  I  will  come  again.  Are  you  sure 

—  are  you  sure,  Jacqueline,  that  you  understand  what  they 

-what  they  sent  me  to  say?" 

"  I  understand  enough,"  said  Jacqueline,  in  a  very  low 
voice,  and  kissed  her  cousin  upon  the  brow. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    WAY    OF    THE    TRANSGRESSOR 

RAND  closed  the  heavy  ledger.   "It  is  all  straight," he 
said. 
"It's  as  straight  as  if  't  was  a  winding-up  for 
ever,"  answered  Tom.    "Are  you  going  home  now?" 

"Yes." 

"  There 's  almost  nothing  on  the  docket.  I 've  seen  no  such 
general  clearance  since  you  began  to  practise  and  took  me 
in.  You  say  you're  going  to  refuse  the  Amherst  case?" 

"I  have  refused  it." 

"Then,"  quoth  Tom,  "I  might  as  well  go  fishing.  The 
weather 's  right,  and  every  affair  of  yours  is  so  cleaned  and 
oiled  and  put  to  rights  that  there 's  nothing  here  for  a  man  to 
do.  One  might  suppose  you  were  going  a  long  journey.  If 
you  don't  want  me  to-morrow,  I  '11  call  on  old  Mat  Green  —  ' 

"  Don't  go  fishing  to-morrow,  Tom,"  said  Rand  from  the 
desk,  "  but  don't  come  here  either.  Stay  at  home  with  Vinie." 

"You  won't  be  coming  in  from  Roselands  ?" 

"I  won't  be  coming  here."  Rand  left  the  desk  and  stood 
at  the  small  window  where  the  roses  were  now  in  bloom.  "  I 
shall  send  you  a  note,  Tom,  to-morrow  morning.  It  will  tell 
you  what"  He  paused  for  a  moment.  "What  comes 
next,"  he  finished.  "There  will  be  a  message  in  it  for  Vinie." 
He  turned  from  the  window.  "I  am  going  home  now." 

"It's  a  good  time  for  a  holiday,"  remarked  Tom,  "and 
you  need  n't  tell  me  that  you  don't  need  it,  Lewis !  I  '11  lock 
up  and  go  to  the  Eagle  for  a  while.  What  are  you  looking 
for?" 


504  LEWIS   RAND 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  other.  "I  was  looking  at  the 
room  itself.  I  always  liked  this  office,  Tom." 

As  he  passed,  he  touched  his  subaltern  upon  the  shoulder. 
There  was  fondness  in  the  gesture.  "Good-bye,"  he  said, 
and  was  gone  before  Tom  could  answer. 

Outside,  in  the  bloom  and  glow  of  the  May  evening,  he 
mounted  Selim  and  rode  out  of  the  town.  The  people  whom 
he  met  he  greeted  slightly,  but  with  no  change  of  manner 
which  they  afterwards  could  report.  It  was  sunset  when  he 
passed  the  last  houses,  and  turned  toward  the  west  and  his 
own  home.  He  rode  slowly,  with  his  eyes  upon  a  great  sea  of 
vivid  gold.  By  degrees  the  brightness  faded,  changing  to  an 
amethyst,  out  of  which  suddenly  swam  the  evening  star.  The 
land  rose  into  hills,  the  summits  of  the  highest  far  and  dark 
against  the  cold  violet  of  the  sky.  From  the  road  to  Roselands 
branched  the  road  to  Greenwood.  It  was  dusk  when  horse 
and  rider  reached  this  opening.  Selim  had  come  to  know  the 
altered  grasp  upon  the  rein  just  here,  and  now,  according  to 
wont,  he  fell  into  the  slower  pace.  Rand  turned  in  his  saddle 
and  looked  across  the  darkening  fields  to  the  low  hill,  crowned 
with  oaks,  from  which  arose  the  Greenwood  house.  He  gazed 
for  a  full  minute,  then  spoke  to  his  horse  and  they  went  on 
at  speed.  A  little  longer  and  he  was  at  the  gates  of  home. 

His  wife  met  him  upon  the  doorstone.  "  I  heard  you  at  the 
gate-" 

He  put  his  arm  around  her.  "What  have  you  been  doing 
all  the  long  day  ? " 

"  I  worked,"  she  answered,  "  and  saw  to  the  house,  and  read 
to  Hagar  at  the  quarter.  She's  going  fast.  How  tired  your 
voice  sounds !  Come  into  the  light.  Supper  is  ready  —  and 
Mammy  Chloe  has  said  a  charm  to  make  you  sleep  to-night.3 

They  went  indoors  to  the  lighted  rooms.  "  You  are  wearing 
your  amethysts,"  said  Rand,  "and  the  ribbon  in  your  hair  — ; 


THE   WAY   OF   THE   TRANSGRESSOR     505 

She  turned  upon  him  a  face  exquisite  in  expression.  "They 
are  the  jewels  that  you  like  —  the  ribbon  as  I  wore  it  long  ago. 
Come  in  —  come  in  to  supper." 

The  brief  meal  ended,  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 
Rand  stood  irresolutely.  "  I  have  yet  a  line  to  write,"  he  told 
her.  "  I  will  do  it  here  at  your  desk.  When  I  have  finished, 
Jacqueline,  then  there  is  something  I  must  say." 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  write.  She  moved  to  the  win 
dow,  then  restlessly  back  to  the  lighted  room  and  sat  down 
before  the  hearth,  but  in  a  moment  she  left  this,  too,  and 
moved  again  through  the  room.  She  passed  her  harp,  and  as 
she  did  so,  she  drew  her  hand  across  the  strings.  The  sweet 
and  liquid  sound  ran  through  the  room.  Rand  turned.  "I 
have  not  heard,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  —  "I  have  not  heard 
that  sound  since  —  since  last  August.  Will  you  sing  to  me 
now?" 

She  touched  the  harp  again.  "Yes,  Lewis.  What  shall  I 
sing?" 

He  rose,  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  his  face  to 
the  night.  "Sing  those  verses  you  sang  that  night  at  Fonte- 
noy";  then,  as  she  struck  a  chord,  "No,  not  To  Althea  — 
the  other." 

She  sang.  The  noble  contralto,  pure,  rich,  and  deep, 
swelled  through  the  room. 

"  The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  "  — 

Her  voice  broke  and  her  hands  dropped  from  the  strings. 
She  rose  quickly  and  left  the  harp.  "I  cannot — I  cannot 
sing  to-night.  The  air  is  faint  —  the  flowers  are  too  heavy. 
Come  out  —  come  out  to  the  wind  and  the  stars ! " 

Without  the  house  the  evening  wind  blew  cool,  moving  the 
long  branches  of  the  beech  tree,  and  rustling  through  the 
grass.  To  the  west  the  mountains  showed  faintly,  in  the  val- 


506  LEWIS   RAND 

ley  a  pale  streak  marked  the  river.  The  sky  was  thick  with 
stars.  Behind  them,  through  the  open  door,  they  heard  the 
tall  clock  strike.  "I  did  not  tell  you,"  said  Jacqueline,  "of 
all  my  day.  Unity  was  here  this  afternoon/' 

"Unity!" 

"  Yes.  For  an  hour.  She  came  with  —  with  messages.  My 
uncles  send  me  word  that  they  love  me,  and  that  Fontenoy  is 
my  home  always  —  as  it  used  to  be.  Whenever  I  wish,  I  am 
to  come  home." 

"What  did  you  answer?" 

"I  answered  that  they  were  all  dear  to  me,  but  that  my 
home  was  here  with  you.  I  told  Unity  to  tell  them  that  — and 
to  tell  it,  too,  to  Fairfax  Gary." 

There  was  a  silence;  then,  "It  does  not  matter,"  said 
Rand  slowly.  "Whether  it  is  done  my  way,  or  whether  it  is 
done  his  way,  Fairfax  Gary  will  not  care.  He  is  concerned 
only  that  it  shall  be  done.  You  understood  the  message, 
Jacqueline  ? " 

She  answered  almost  inaudibly.    "Yes,  I  understood." 

"Seven  months  —  and  Ludwell  Gary  lies  unavenged.  I 
have  been  slow.  But  I  had  to  break  a  strong  chain,  Jacque 
line.  I  had  fastened  it,  link  by  link,  around  my  soul.  It  was 
not  easy  to  break  —  it  was  not  easy !  And  I  had  to  find  a 
path  in  a  desert  place." 

She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  arms.  "  Do  I  not  know  what 
it  was  ?  I  have  seen  —  I  have  seen.  O  Lewis,  Lewis ! " 

"It  is  broken,"  he  said,  "and  though  the  desert  is  yet 
around  me,  my  feet  have  found  the  path.  To-morrow, 
Jacqueline,  I  give  myself  up." 

She  uttered  a  cry,  turned,  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 
"To-morrow!  O  Love!" 

He  bent  over  her  with  broken  words  of  self-reproach.  She 
stopped  him  with  her  hand  against  his  lips.  "No,  I  am  not 


DRINK  TO   ME  ONLY  WITH   THINE   EYES 


THE   WAY   OF   THE   TRANSGRESSOR     507 

all  unhappy  —  no,  you  have  not  broken  my  heart  —  you 
have  not  ruined  my  life!  Don't  say  it  —  don't  think  it!  I 
love  you  as  I  loved  you  in  the  garden  at  Fontenoy,  as  I  loved 
on  our  wedding  eve,  in  the  house  on  the  Three-Notched 
Road !  I  love  you  more  deeply  now  than  then  — : 

"I  have  come,"  he  answered,  "to  be  sorry  for  almost  all 
my  life.  Even  to  my  father  I  might  have  been  a  better  son 
The  best  friend  a  young  man  ever  had  —  that  was  Mr.  Jeffer 
son  to  me !  and  it  all  ended  in  the  letter  which  he  wrote  last 
August.  I  was  a  leader  in  a  party  in  whose  principles  I  be 
lieved  and  still  believe,  and  I  betrayed  my  party.  To-night  I 
think  I  could  give  my  life  for  one  imperilled  field,  for  one 
green  acre  of  this  land  —  and  yet  I  was  willing  to  bring 
upon  it  strife  and  dissension.  Ingrate  and  traitor  —  hard 
words  and  true,  hard  words  and  true !  I  might  have  had  a 
friend  —  and  always  I  knew  he  was  the  man  I  would  have 
wished  to  be  —  but,  instead,  I  thought  of  him  as  my  foe  and 
I  killed  him.  I  have  brought  trouble  on  many,  and  good  to 
very  few.  I  have  wronged  you  in  very  much.  But  I  never 
wronged  you  in  my  love  —  never,  never,  Jacqueline!  That  is 
my  mountain  peak  —  that  is  my  cleansing  sea  —  that  is  that 
in  my  life  which  needs  no  repenting,  that  is  true,  that  is  right ! 
Oh,  my  wife,  my  wife ! " 

The  night  wind  blew  against  them.  Fireflies  shone  and 
grey  moths  went  by  to  the  lighted  windows ;  above  the  tree- 
tops  a  bat  wheeled  and  wheeled.  The  clock  struck  again,  then 
from  far  away  a  whippoorwill  began  to  call.  They  sat  side  by 
side  upon  the  doorstone,  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  their 
hands  locked. 

"What  will  you  do  ?"  he  said.  "What  will  you  do  ?  Day 
and  night  I  think  of  that ! " 

"Could  I  stay  on  here  ?   I  would  like  to." 

"  I  have  put  all  affairs  in  order.  The  place  and  the  servants 


LEWIS   RAND 

are  yours.  I  Ve  paid  every  debt,  I  think.  Mocket  knows  — 
he'll  show  you.  But  to  live  on  here  alone  — 

"It  will  be  the  less  alone.  Don't  fear  for  me  —  don't  think 
for  me.  I  will  find  courage.  To-morrow!" 

"It  is  best,"  he  said,  "that  I  should  tell  you  that  which  oth 
ers  may  think  to  comfort  you  with.  It  is  possible,  but  I  do  not 
consider  it  probable,  that  the  sentence  will  be  death.  It  will 
be,  I  think,  the  Penitentiary.  I  had  rather  it  was  the  other." 

After  a  time  she  spoke,  though  with  difficulty.  "Yes  —  I 
had  rather  —  for  you.  For  myself,  I  feel  to-night  that  just  to 
know  you  were  alive  would  be  happiness  enough.  Either 
way  —  either  way  —  to  have  loved  you  has  been  for  me  my 
crown  of  life ! " 

"I  have  written  to  Colonel  Churchill,  and  a  line  to  Fairfax 
Cary.  There  was  much  to  do  at  the  last.  Now  it  is  all  done, 
and  I  will  go  early  in  the  morning.  You  knew  that  it  was 
drawing  to  this  end  — " 

uYes,  I  knew  —  I  knew.  Lewis,  Lewis!  what  will  you 
do  yonder  all  the  days  —  the  months  —  the  —  the  years  to 
come  ?  Oh,  unendurable !  O  God,  have  mercy ! " 

"I  will  work,"  he  answered.  " It  is  work,  Jacqueline,  with 
me  —  it  is  work  or  die!  I  will  work.  That  which  I  have 
brought  upon  myself  I  will  try  to  endure.  And  out  of  effort 
may  come  at  last  —  I  know  not  what." 

They  sat  still  upon  the  stone.  The  wind  sank,  the  air  grew 
colder;  near  and  far  there  gathered  a  feeling  of  the  north,  a 
sense  of  loneliness  and  untrodden  space.  The  whippoorwill 
called  again. 

Rand  shuddered.  "Our  last  night  —  it  is  our  last  night. 
Look !  —  a  star  shot  over  the  Three-Notched  Road." 

Jacqueline  slipped  from  his  clasp  and  stood  upright,  with 
her  hands  over  her  ears.  "  Come  indoors  —  come  indoors !  I 
cannot  bear  the  whippoorwill !  " 


THE   WAY   OF   THE  TRANSGRESSOR    509 

Early  the  next  morning  he  rode  away.  Halfway  down  the 
drive  he  looked  back  and  saw  her  standing  under  the  beech 
tree.  She  raised  her  hand,  her  scarf  fluttering  back  from 
it.  It  was  the  gesture  of  a  princess,  watching  a  knight  ride 
from  her  tower.  The  green  boughs  came  between  them ;  he 
was  gone,  and  she  sank  down  upon  the  bench  beneath  the 
tree.  It  was  there  that  Major  Edward  found  her,  an  hour 
later. 

Rand  passed  along  the  old,  familiar  road.  He  travelled 
neither  fast  nor  slow,  and  he  kept  a  level  gaze.  The  May 
morning  was  fresh  and  sweet,  the  land  to  either  side  ploughed 
earth  or  vernal  green,  the  little  stream  laughing  through  the 
meadow.  He  passed  a  field  where  negroes  were  transplanting 
tobacco,  and  his  mind  noted  the  height  and  nature  of  the  leaf. 
At  the  Greenwood  road  he  looked  mechanically  toward  the 
distant  house,  but  upon  this  morning  he  hardly  thought  of 
Gary.  He  thought  of  Gideon  Rand,  and  of  the  great  casks  of 
tobacco  which  he  and  his  father  used  to  roll ;  of  the  old,  strong 
horses,  and  of  a  lean  and  surly  dog  that  they  had  owned ;  of 
the  slow  journeys,  and  of  their  fires  at  night,  beneath  the  gum 
and  the  pine,  beside  wastes  of  broom  sedge. 

He  came  into  Charlottesville  and  rode  down  Main  Street 
to  the  Eagle,  where  he  dismounted.  A  negro  took  his  horse. 
"Put  him  up,"  directed  Rand,  "until  h^  >  called  for."  He 
kept  his  hand  for  a  moment  upon  Sel;  •  s  n;;ck,  then  turned 
and  walked  down  the  street  and  into  t.  Cf  art  House  yard. 

The  shady  place  had  always  a  contingt.it  of  happy  idlers, 
men  and  boys  lounging  under  the  trees  or  upon  the  Court 
House  steps.  These  greeted  Lewis  Rand  with  deference, 
and  turned  from  their  bountiful  lack  of  occupation  to  watch 
him  cross  the  grass  and  enter  the  Court  House.  "  He 's  gone," 
remarked  one,  "straight  to  the  sheriff's  office.  What's  his 
business  there  ? " 


510  LEWIS  RAND 

The  next  day  and  the  next  the  idlers  in  the  Court  House 
yard  knew  all  the  business,  and  rolled  it  under  their  tongues. 
They  loved  a  tragedy,  and  this  curtain  had  gone  up  with 
promise.  Had  they  not  seen  Lewis  Rand  walk  into  the  yard 
—  had  they  not  spoken  to  him  and  he  to  them  —  had  the} 
not  watched  him  enter  the  Court  House  ?  The  boy  who 
minded  the  sheriff's  door  found  himself  a  hero,  and  the  words 
treasured  that  fell  from  his  tongue.  It  was  true  that  he  had 
been  sent  away  and  so  had  heard  but  little,  but  the  increasing 
crowd  found  that  little  of  interest.  "Yes,  sir,  that's  what  he 
said,  and  just  as  quiet  as  you  are !  '  Is  the  sheriff  in,  Michael  ? ' 
he  asked.  'Tell  him,  please,  that  I  want  to  see  him/  That's 
what  he  said,  and  Mr.  Garrett  he  calls  out,  'Come  in,  Mr. 
Rand,  come  in!" 

Other  voices  claimed  attention.  "And  when  they  dragged 
Indian  Run  yesterday,  there  was  the  pistol  at  the  bottom  of 
a  pool  —  his  name  upon  it,  just  as  he  told  them  it  would 
be- 

"  Fairfax  Gary  was  in  the  court  room  yesterday  when  he 
was  committed.  He  and  Lewis  Rand  spoke  to  each  other, 
but  no  one  heard  what  they  said." 

The  boy  came  to  the  front  again.  "  I  did  n't  hear  much  that 
morning  before  Mr.  Garrett  sent  me  away,  but  I  heard  why 
he  gave  himself  up.  I  thought  it  was  n't  much  of  a  reason  —  " 

The  crowd  pressed  closer,  "What  was  it,  Michael,  what 
was  it  ? " 

"It  sounds  foolish,"  answered  the  boy,  "but  I've  got  it 
right.  He  said  he  must  have  sleep." 


C^ 


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I 


SEP   101932 


OCT    161944 


REC'D  LD 


LD  ai- 


